


summer sang in me a while (that in me sings no more)

by FictitiousFanatisch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Lolita AU, M/M, Obsession, Road Trip, Sad Ending, Sexual Content, Unrequited, underaged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: In July of 1947, Louis Tomlinson finds himself boarding in the quaint New England home of newly widowed, Anne Cox, to prepare his fall teaching curriculum at a local university. While Ms. Cox orchestrates romantic advances upon Mr. Tomlinson, he has his own sights set on Anne's fourteen year old son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER** \- I am not Vladimir Nabokov and will not be taking any credit for his original work. I am not Adriane Lyne ( _1997_ ) or Stanley Kubrick ( _1962_ ) and will not be taking any credit for their cinematic renditions of _Lolita_. I do not own _One Direction_ , Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson or any of their affiliates. The events in this book are purely fiction and in no way based on real events. Title is by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I do not support underage sex, promote the dubious/non-consensual scenes in this story, agree with Louis's caricature nor do I condone his actions. I enjoy studying _Lolita_ because of the twisted psychology behind it, but I do not in any way aim to romanticize the situations that take place within it. Please try to think of this as a tragedy or psychological thriller. The last thing I want anyone to think is that this is a love story. 
> 
> **WARNINGS** \- I didn't want to give away the entire plot in the tags but this story is very fucked up and will be the darkest thing I've ever written. It contains psychological manipulation (on both sides), dubious consent, a massive age gap, RAPE, underaged (NON-CONSENSUAL) sexual acts with a minor, mentions and references to underaged drinking/smoking/drug use, obsessions, abuse, and death. Chapters with smut/sexual scenes will be starred as a warning and can be skipped without severe interruption to the story.
> 
> Reader discretion is advised.

« _if you touch me_  
_you'll understand what happiness is_  
_look, a new day has begun_ »

— Barbra Streisand, _Memory_

\- ✿ -

Louis was one of the lucky ones. He was able to find a job right out of college as a school teacher, and regardless of whether or not he was passionate for his occupation, he was well off and couldn't find it in his delicate soul to complain. It was March of 1946, one year following the dreadful second world war when he applied to teach at an American college. His life wasn't headed in any particular direction, and for several months heretofore he'd been craving a change of environment. Unsurprisingly, due to his astounding resumé, and bilingual capabilities, the university had contacted him almost immediately and suggested he come for an interview.

On the twelfth of July, 1947, Louis arrived in the small county of Ramsdale. He had pre- arrangements to stay with a distant relative of his uncle, but upon arrival he discovered their estate was no longer in standing due to a terrible fire that occurred late that same spring. Unfortunately, no one had remembered to contact him so he could orchestrate other accommodations.

However, his uncle's second cousin's wife suggested he take up residence in her close friend's home, seeing as the woman had recently lost her husband and was searching for a tenant to help pay the rent. He spent the night in a local motel and the very next day he took a taxicab to Ms. Anne Cox's home. It was a calm, suburban surrounding, a brick house with a red mailbox and equally rosy shudders, a little sign lodged in the freshly trimmed front yard reading, ' _Tenant Wanted_ '. Louis opened the gate of the picket fence, dragging his suitcase behind him as he took hesitant steps along the stone path.

"Mr. Tomlinson!" An amiable grin, gentle eyes and long brown hair welcomed him at the front door. The woman, _Anne_ , was in a pink checkered dress and a blue apron —which she quickly folded and tossed aside the moment he entered the house, a blush adorning the corners of her face and fingers that wound nervously around her soft hands.

"Ms. Cox," He greeted, removing his hat, shaking her hand.

"I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. I wasn't expecting you until noon! I was going to bake a pie, you see," She hurriedly explained, moving to take his luggage from him.

"Oh no I can get this, Ma'am. I wouldn't want to put you out of your way," Louis smiled sweetly at the woman. She quirked an eyebrow, her lips parting in surprise.

"Well, what a gentleman. Are you sure? It's no trouble. You are my guest, after all,"

"I think... I'd like to see the house first? Before I decide-" Louis smoothed his hand over his hair, cradling his hat to his chest. It was a beautiful house, but it wasn't as close to the city as he would have hoped– and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to manage the commute in the time between the commencement of the fall session and the opening of the university boarding facility.

"Of course! No, I apologize, I'm so _foolish_. I'll certainly give you the tour first," She laughed brightly, wiping her clammy hands against her skirt. Louis nodded his head in return, turning to store his hat on the hook at the top of her iron coat rack.

"Shall we?" Anne then gestured to the stairwell. Louis left his suitcase along the wall beside the stairs so he didn't have to lug it back down if he decided not to stay here. He then proceeded up the stairs behind her to the second floor.

"This is a fairly new home, built just within the last twenty years. My husband had the bathroom remodeled about two years ago," the woman informed him, pushing open the door to the bathroom at the top of the steps. It was immaculate, midmorning sunlight from the single window illuminating the sparkling glass mirror and perfect porcelain tub.

"This is what they call a Jack and Jill model, which is a bathroom that connects the two extra bedrooms," She spoke as Louis glanced up and down the hallway, captivated by some of the paintings and photographs.

"So you'll have to share the bathroom with my son," Anne turned back around, offering him a tender, almost apologetic smile. Louis honed his attention back onto the woman, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. 

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," He shrugged as Anne closed the door behind her, continuing down the hallway. The woman cleared her throat.

"I noticed you were interested in these portraits? That right there is my husband — _well_ , _was_... I suppose. Everyone keeps telling me to take them down, but I feel like that would be disrespectful. He's still very dear to our hearts," Anne spoke respectfully as she ran an idle finger over the frame. Louis nodded.

"And that's Des and I the day we got married. Back in 1928," Louis smirked at the image of Anne bridal style in a brawny man's arms, kissing his cheek and waving to the camera. It was a precious moment.

The woman sighed as she resumed the tour, ushered Louis past the first two doors and to the third. It must have been the guest room, Louis's brain inducted.

"This is where you would be staying, writing, studying— whatever you plan on doing here this summer in preparation for your teaching," She walked into the bedroom, drawing the navy blue curtains up to let the sunlight in. Louis surveyed the space. It wasn't too cramped, with an oak chest sat between the two windows, a twin bed against the back wall and a desk against the wall opposite that. Louis could easily envision himself waking up here, detailing his notes, working on his french literature.

"So... what do you think?" Anne wondered, her lips curling, fingers folding together in anticipation.

"It's a lovely home, truly. I especially appreciate the view from my room. Your garden is beautiful," He noted as he slipped his index along the fabric of the curtain, peering out into the backyard.

"Oh yes! You must come see my lilies. They're a deal breaker for sure," She squealed in delight, beckoning him toward the door. Louis laughed to himself at her enthusiasm, quickly following the young woman back down the stairs, through the foyer and out to the veranda.

"I've just recently taken up gardening. Some of my girl friends suggested it would be good to help take my mind off of Desmond's death. But while I've grown quite attached to my plants, they are no substitute for human interaction," Anne said, her voice light, yet laced with an underlying sadness. Louis could tell almost immediately that the woman was isolated here in this home, accosted with daily reminders of her late lover. He wondered if she had many friends, duties and activities to keep her occupied throughout the week. She was an attractive woman, a little homey, but pretty nonetheless. There was no doubt in Louis's mind that she could find someone to fill the void of loneliness.

"That is true, I suppose. Hobbies give you a sense of purpose, though - one even sadness should never be able to encroach upon," Louis thought, closing the back door behind him as Ms. Cox stepped outside, her short black heels clacking against each wooden slab.

"You certainly have a way with words, Mr. Tomlinson," Anne tucked a stray piece of her dark hair behind her ear.

"I feel the same way about my writing. It's always been there to organize my thoughts, polarize my inhibitions, help me work through the more challenging decisions of my career and life as a whole. I wish you the same success, Ms. Cox," Louis praised, squinting in the morning glow of the patio. Anne flushed slightly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Well thank you, Louis. And please, call me Anne," she smiled, pausing for a second before sidestepping into the yard, waving him along.

Louis stuffed his hands into his pants pockets as he followed her into the garden, tracing the stone path through her rows of white lilies and lavender, dark rose bushes, vegetable gardens and sunflower patches. Louis awed at her dedication, indulging her conversation through her trips to the farmer's market and to her methods of choosing proper fertilizer until she turned to the left, calling his attention up to her large, twenty foot tall oak tree. Louis lifted his forearm to shield his eyes from the sunlight.

"This one is Harry's favorite. The little devil likes to jump from it while I'm gardening and scare the life out of me," she huffed indignantly. Louis frowned at the thought. He glanced up slowly, wondering how it was possible for anyone to climb the tree– the lowest branches were still too high for he alone to reach. In the corner of his eye, he just briefly caught a glimpse of dark curls between the branches and sunbeams.

Louis squinted harder, surveying the tree once more to see if he'd maybe imagined it. But he then found himself staring into the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. They were rich and earthy, like the opulent yards Ms. Cox spent so much of her time tending to. His lips were delicately heart shaped, skin creamy and porcelain, his wild jungle of dark brown curls adorning his temples, just lightly brushing the tips of his ears. He was immaculately camouflaged, like the dangerous predators of the forest.

The boy peered through the shadows and leaves, his pale arms folded on top of the thick branch. He blinked slowly, cocking his curious young head a bit to the right as he scrutinized Louis's appearance. The older man gulped hard, immediately flushing around the collar.

The boy held Louis's gaze as he gradually sat up to straddle the branch, his beautifully bare chest coming into view. He dusted a few stuck pieces of bark from his elbows, resting the back of his head against the tree. His thighs were clothed by a pair of khaki shorts, torn at the hem. He absentmindedly fiddled with the tears, then reached up to scratch his blunt nails against his sternum. He dangled his feet down, knocking his heels against the trunk as he pushed his index finger up against his lips, indicating for Louis to keep his presence a secret.

But the man could barely move, let alone breathe or part his lips in a sentence. Louis could feel his heart palpating madly behind his ribcage, his eyelids rapidly blinking to try to erase the stain of this _Harry_ from his vision, but all efforts proved useless. The boy was terrifyingly real, hanging from the tree like a woodland dryad or a nymphette of some sort, his skin flushed with heat, eyes sleepily hooded.

Louis knew in that moment his own feeble existence on this god-forsaken planet would nevermore be the same. He could feel his past, present and future all catching up to him as a rude and caustic awakening, violently tearing him from his temperance and thrusting him into sudden plight. All at once he was reduced to an invalid— confounded with a million variant emotions, unable to breathe, unable to form coherent thoughts, to move his lips around a word or phrase.

Louis just couldn't stop himself from _staring_ \- and he worried he would remain forever frozen in this moment, lost betwixt the folds of time - before Anne whipped back around to him, tugging at his wrist.

"Oh I just have to show you my maple tree! I picked it up from the market last week. It should be big enough to compete with that old oak in a few years," She bursted, searching his distant eyes. Louis shook himself back into cognizance of the current surrounding, lightly pinching his arm to redefine his grasp on reality.

"Um, yes that sounds—" He began, unsure of how he intended to conclude the sentiment.

Bless his soul, because just then, Harry pounced down from the tree and landed nimbly between them, pushing a tiny, unthreatening roar from his chest.

"Oh _my G_ —" Anne started to swear, her face burning with embarrassment as her young boy broke out into a fit of giggles, dimples – _dimples,_ Louis heart constricted – protruding from the corners of his cheeks.

"Gotcha!" Harry laughed, poking his finger at his mother's chest. Louis watched the boy fondly, some strong adoration already settling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't yet find the words to describe it, but he knew Harry's bright, innocent eyes were also the home of deep, twisted curiosities. There was a mischief in his youthful motives, an intrinsic desire to break the rules. It reminded Louis of his own adolescence.

" _Harry Edward Styles,_ I thought I told you not to do that again!" She exploded, picking up a fallen twig and using it to swat at her son's posterior. The boy's top row of teeth sank into his bottom lip as he passed a gleeful glance over to Louis. The older man's heart tightened in his chest.

 _'God, he's magnificent,'_  
And he wasn't even sure why. Like, he'd just met Harry, just came to the realization that this boy was a living, breathing form– and he already knew the child's spirit would hold some bold significance and span the infinite.

Then young Harry was scampering barefoot across the yard, drenching himself in the mist of the sprinklers, trotting up the porch and disappearing into the house. Anne muttered something about tracking dirt and grass across the kitchen tiles, her voice plagued with impatience for the child's behavior.

"He's such a pest," she grumbled, smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress and regaining her composure. Louis exhaled in the boy's wake, utterly starstruck by his very existence.

"As I was saying... I planned on planting the maple sometime in the next week. But I was thinking, if you liked it here and decided to stay, maybe you could find the time to help me? I understand if you—"

"Actually, I'm confident I would like it here. My only concern was the distance from the college... But I'd certainly love to become acquainted with you, as well as your garden. How much did you say the room was?" Louis smiled, tucking his itinerary back into his suit jacket pocket.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_« he goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter... and knoweth not that it is for his life »_

_— Proverbs 7:22-23_

\- ✿ -

The orange glow of the afternoon sun poured in through the curtains of the guest room, warming his temples. Louis sat in the desk chair, rotating his cramping wrist as his eyes reviewed the words he'd most recently added to the page.

_'His lips are like vibrant rose petals, eyes like iridescent stars. His skin is soft and pure like flour, cheeks ruddied with energetic youth. Though he consumes more soda pop than anything else, he closely embodies the spirit of water, livid like rushing riptides, likewise his presence somehow placid like the streams and brooks._

_He sleeps sweetly, a naivety in the way his chest rises and descends, soft snuffles escaping his throat, ankles sliding off of the mattress in the middle of the night. He's always getting into things, is scolded by his mother at least ten times a day for eating the blueberries she was going to use for breakfast muffins, or stealing her nail varnishes to paint his toes on the back porch._

_He never makes his bed, content to jump up and down on the mess of blankets and bedsheets to the beat of his blasting records. He's a lying man's evanescence memory, the deafening resonance of what the good old days once entailed. He's reckless and carefree, indispensable, invincible. He's the love of my life, the bane of my existence:_  
_Harry Edward Styles_.'

Louis inscribed the boy's name in his best calligraphy, turning the corner of the page to continue his mournful  monologue.

' _Harry Styles: the ache of my heart, the fire in my loins, my sin, my shame. I never thought I'd see myself here, lusting over a prepubescent boy. He's at the ripe age to tempt my desolate soul; it's nearly impossible to decipher his charms from flirtation. Oh how I long to hold his lissome form in my arms, how I yearn for his propinquity, to taste the waxy burn of his lips, to see myself engulfed in flames amidst this godless infatuation. I do not understand how he's come to haunt me so. I wonder if I shall ever again be free of his clutches_...'

"Lou, Hon?" Anne's voice rang out in the hallway, a set of knuckles tapping hesitantly against his bedroom door.

Louis had finished unpacking yesterday evening just after supper and had spent the majority of today in his room, moving the furniture around, constructing a more comfortable living environment for himself and scribbling his thoughts down for future reference.

Anne hadn't bothered him all day and earlier he'd heard her urging her son to do the same. Which— Louis wasn't sure how he felt about. He wasn't at all irritated by Harry's existence, like his mother seemed to be. He saw Harry's personality – his carelessness, his shortsighted motivations, his blindness to implication – as beautiful. He wanted to know more about the boy, to study his mental processes, to come to some accord with his ethereality. Because there had to be some sort of explanation. Beautiful creatures like Harry didn't just– exist.

Speaking of Harry, the boy had spent the majority of his day outside with a blonde haired neighborhood boy. The two rode bikes, played catch, took turns spraying one another with the garden hose until Anne had finally hollered at them beneath the visor of her sunhat to cut it out. Through and through, apart from mealtimes, Louis had remained on the upper level, peering through glass windows, palming at the front of his pants as he watched Harry tousle with his friend in the grass, his damp white shirt clinging obscenely to his sinewy chest. Louis still wasn't sure what this was, why his stomach tied in knots at the mere mention of the boy's name, nor why his pelvis flourished with heat at simply the sight of him.

He didn't know why he was having these thoughts. Had he always suppressed some kind of lascivious lust for children? Had he mistaken his infatuation with the lad for sexual desire? Had it just been a while since he'd last had a shag? Or should he check himself into the nearest mental asylum before his desires took over and he advanced upon the boy? The latter made him shudder.

"Yes? You can come in," Louis hummed as he closed his journal, tucking it into one of the desk drawers. He folded his hands innocently on the surface in front of him.

"I just wanted to check on you. You've been hard at work all day, huh?" Anne dried her hands on a dish towel, using her free hand to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had red lipstick on, a warm crimson hue to her tanned flesh. He briefly wondered if Harry's skin would darken like that by the end of the summer, if his milky skin would learn to shimmer like gold.

"Yes. I've gotten quite a lot done, actually," Louis lied, glancing across the room to where his textbooks and portfolios sat abandoned by the window after he'd first caught a glimpse of her son this morning, "I hoped starting strong would help keep me motivated for my studies here,"

"That's swell. Have you finished? Supper is just about ready. I finally got Harry to send Niall home and to come in and help me chop some vegetables. I keep telling him he ought to learn to cook for himself. One of these days he'll be out on his own, you know?" She tiraded, leaning against the door frame.

Louis nodded agreeably.

"Maybe once we send him off to bed tonight... we can talk some more about what your aspirations are. Career-wise," Anne suggested, a lonesome desperation twinkling in her eyes. It heavied Louis's heart.

"Yes, of course. I look forward to hearing yours as well," Louis assured the woman. He knew she was fragile and the last thing he intended was to hurt her feelings. There was a part of him - and Louis wasn't sure how agitated that part was - keen of her imminent affection for him. They had manifested rather quickly, considering this now day two of his residence here. But she was a lonely, middle-aged woman. What did he expect?

"Alright. I'll see you soon, I presume?" Anne said as she began to slip back into the hallway, just as she once emerged.

"Yes, I'll be down momentarily. I think I'll just wash up first," He explained as he stood from his desk chair. Anne nodded, waving awkwardly before tugging the door shut behind her.

Louis took a deep breath, listening to her soft footfalls as they retreated from his doorway.

He was a madman— an atrocity lurking just behind his affable eyes. He knew it was wrong, deadly, even - to lust after a child. Especially with the mother of said child within arms reach. He was practically begging to be caught and arrested, shamed in front of the world a stripped of every respectable title he possessed, all for his inability to contain himself. It made Louis's heart rate spike with adrenaline, the blood in his veins thrumming still with an unwavering need for _Harry_.

He took a rejuvenating shower, hoping to alleviate some of his lecherous burden. As he stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his hips, he could hear the boy padding around his room for a couple minutes, humming to himself as he changed out of his wet clothes.

The mere thought of Harry– of the boy's closeness was crippling. Louis rubbed an exhausted hand over his face, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror. Surely he was losing his mind.

"Harry, please get the laundry from outside, it's about to rain! I asked you four times already," the tired mother called, her frustration reverberating throughout the walls of the home.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, I was just about to do it!" Harry yelled back, slamming his door shut as he left his room, the _thud thud thud_ indicating that the boy had bounded back down the stairs. Louis rinsed his jaw, pat his face along the soft of his towel.

There was another suggestion - a sultry voice whispering against the shell of Louis's ear to touch the knob of the jointed door and turn it to the right, to go into Harry's room and to let Harry's belongings, his posters, toys, games and clothes engulf his senses in a flood of forbidden delights. If Louis couldn't have the boy in the manner he desired, he at least wanted to see and experience every part of Harry's fanciful youth. For in his youth, lied his venom.

But Louis kind of liked the pain.

In the end, Louis's stomach rumbled and he decided against it. He shouldn't have been entertaining these thoughts, after all. He was supposed to be figuring out a way to suppress them, a solution to his ordeal that did not encompass his inevitable surrender to madness.

But somewhere in the back of Louis's mind, he knew when that day came, he wouldn't have much of a choice.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

« _and to the meanest door_  
_hastes one pure-browed_  
_white-fingered star,_  
_a little, childish thing,_  
_the busy needle_  
_of her light to bring_ »

— E. E. Cummings, _Sunset_

\- ✿ -

Harry sat across from Louis at the dining room table, his lips pursed around the stem of a heart-shaped cherry lollipop. He sucked it noisily, tugging it out every now and then to catch the sweetness against his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. His eyes were the windows to his tender soul, leaving Louis once more breathless as they had innumerable times in the last forty-eight hours. The boy scratched his pink painted nails against his knee, flipping through the pages of the pop culture magazine that laid on the table. Harry frowned at a photograph of Sinatra, running a fingertip across the black and white image.

Louis dug his nails into his palms at the sight of the young lad, the way he was so oblivious to his effeminate mannerisms. It was a relief to watch him thrive, to observe the movement of his expressions and responses to different emotions, to see the boy before the pressures of society complicated his being. Louis was once young and naive, like Harry. (But that was before his father threatened to cut his dick off and he quickly learned to find women equally attractive as men.) The world simply wasn't made for people like them, and therefore could never be accepting of their differences. Maybe that was the reason he lusted after this boy— Louis was desperate to be reconnected with some semblance of his true self, the soul he'd abandoned for the empty promises of social conformity.

"I like that color," Louis said, breaking the silence between them. The young boy looked up, arching a brow.

"Your nails. Um, the color? It suits you," He elaborated, cursing internally at his uncomfortable attempt to spark conversation. Edification washed over Harry's features and he tucked his chin against his knee.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, looking down at his hands. Anne's voice filled the foyer; her telephone conversation had been dragging on for several minutes. Louis rubbed his hands together, glancing down to his untouched plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. He was hungry, but he knew it would be rude to start eating without his host. And he didn't mind her absence - kind of liked it actually. But being left alone with his temptation made things difficult.

"You talk funny," Harry commented, his finger furling down a page of his magazine,"... where are you from?"

"Yorkshire. In England," The older man said, tracing the brim of his wine glass. Harry lazily tracked his motions, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a wet _pop_.

"Have you ever heard of it?" Louis inquired, curious as to the boy's knowledge of his home country.

"Nope," Harry smiled, exposing his pretty dimples before dropping his gaze back onto his pop literature, folding over another ad. Louis continued to watch him studiously, his heart swelling even more as the moments elapsed.

"I'm so sorry about that. Margaret just called to make sure I was bringing potato salad to the picnic next Sunday," Anne mumbled as she scurried back into the dining room, stopping just in front of her son.

"Now where did you get that," she sighed in agitation, shaking her head at Louis as she closed her fingers around the stick and yanked the lollipop out of the boy's mouth.

"Hey!" Harry blurted, making grabby hands at his treat.

"It'll spoil your appetite, young man. You have a decent meal right in front of you and here you've got your lips around a sucker," she chided, laying the candy against the side of his plate for later.

"I was gonna eat that _too_ ," the boy muttered, a long silken curl falling out against his forehead. Louis's eyes traced Harry's dainty physique, watching as the boy glanced up at him, cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"It's dessert. You may eat it _after_ supper," Anne commanded as she took her seat, unfolding her napkin and spreading it across her lap.

Harry picked up his fork, poking disinterestedly at the pile of green beans on his plate. Louis's fingers dug into the flesh of his thigh, watching the young boy's expression scrunch up in disgust. He chuckled softly. Harry looked up at him, a smile spreading across his face.

Louis felt butterflies erupt in his belly.

"We have to say grace first,"Anne insisted, folding her hands. Louis cleared his throat, dropping his fork against the table. Harry rolled his eyes, tucking his index finger against his lower lip.

Louis spared him a smile before closing his eyes, bowing his head respectfully.

"Harry," Anne said, parting an eye in her son's direction. The boy huffed, but after a moment of silence, acquiesced.

"Bless us Lord, for this meal and the hands that prepared it. Please help it nourish and strengthen our bodies," Harry started, squeezing his eyelids shut. Louis peeked one eye open, stealing another glimpse at the child. He was adorable, his little hands closed together in reverence, red lips parting slightly as he contemplated the next string of words.

"Thank you that Mr. Tomlinson is here with us... please help him to enjoy these delicious green beans picked fresh from mother's garden," Harry snickered quietly, peeking out at Louis. The older man smiled back, a burst of childish glee becoming him at Harry's antics.

" _Amen_ ," The boy's mother forced, lifting her fork and digging into her meal.

Louis couldn't help but watch Harry as he ate, the way he used his fork to hold his steak down as his knife cut across, the way he lifted the piece to his mouth, lapping at the gravy as it dripped down his chin. He used his finger to gather his mixed vegetables onto his fork, making a point of ignoring Anne's lessons on mealtime etiquette.

And there was something beautiful about his inability to take direction, a free spirit that could not be tamed by even the haggling of his mother. Louis could already feel some irritation cultivating for her overbearing attitude, the way she tried to crush his graceless energy. Because Harry was perfect just the way he was.

Although Louis didn't know much about the boy yet, so far he couldn't even think of one thing he disliked about him. He ached with the desire to tell Harry that, to show the boy just how special he was. That was what Louis wanted. That was all Louis ever wanted.

Harry finished his meal first, sprang from his seat and popped his sucker back into his mouth. The boy had already started in the direction of the foyer when Anne tutted, snapping her fingers at him as if he were a dog neglecting his training. The boy's shoulders sank and he turned back around, collected his glass and plate from the table and properly dispensed them into the kitchen sink.

"That's all, Sweetie. Now go ahead up to bed," Anne flicked her wrist at the young boy, dismissing him from their presence. Louis clenched his fist around his napkin, foreboding Harry's disappearance.

"Bed?! But it's only eight o'clock," Harry outraged, looking to Louis for support. It was summer break as well, which meant the boy had no schedule to keep the following day. Louis saw no reason he had to go to bed so early and knew if he were Harry's age he would have protested as well. But Ms. Cox made the rules of the house, and for now Louis was powerless to alter these institutions.

"Go up to your room, please," she reiterated, lifting the glass of white wine to her lips. The boy's gaze lingered on Louis from the entryway, a silent plea for the older man to do _something_ about his pitiful status here in the home. Louis shrugged, raising his hands to show his impotency in the situation.

" _Now_ , Harry," she said once more, raising the tone of her voice. Harry grumbled under his breath as he snatched his magazine from the table and whipped around, stomping out of the room and up the stairs, tossing his bedroom door closed behind him. The sound echoed throughout the small home, causing Anne to shake her head and chuckle.

"He's really something, isn't he?" the mother ran an exasperated hand through her lank roots, resting her elbows against the table.

"Indeed," Louis breathed.

 

 


	4. *

« _the little deadly demon among the wholesome children; she stands unrecognized by them and unconscious herself_  
_of her fantastic power_ »

— Vladimir Nabokov; _Lolita_  


\- ✿ -

Louis had decided to catch up on some of the work he'd neglected over the last twenty-four hours and found himself pressing down the keys of his typewriter well into the following morning. It was around three when his creative juices began to drain and he decided to fiddle with the radio's knobs, seeking some sort of aural stimulation. It worked evidently– and he was able to get another two pages printed with a modicum of mistakes before a cool breeze blew in through his window, the atmosphere shifting as the bathroom door creaked open and revealed a soft, sleepy Harry, rubbing at his tired eyes.

Louis's breath hitched as he took in the dreamy sight of him, curls matted against his forehead, the dip of his flannel pajama top curving below his shapely collarbones, skewed to the right to reveal the start of his shoulder. He sniffled, leaned against the doorway, curling one set of toes over the other.

"You woke me up," the boy spoke simply, voice rigid with sleep.

"Oh, uh—sorry," Louis stuttered, reaching across his desk to turn off the radio. The last thing he'd wanted was to disturb Harry's beauty rest. Not that he really needed it –

Harry just stood there, his eyes moving over to the window, to the papers scattered along the wood floor, then back to where Louis sat at his desk, removing the last page of notes from his typewriter's clasp, slipping it into its folder for later reference.

"I'm hungry," the boy decided, rubbing a hand over his tummy. He was so fucking beautiful; he still had a lot of baby fat, but his limbs were long and lank. And then there were his unexplainable behaviors, the way he always seemed to taunt Louis's libido without actually _doing_ anything.

Louis watched him, a hybrid of love and lust overwhelming his resolve. It was impossible to decide which part of him was more desperate - the part that desired Harry's affections, his tight lipped smile, his blushing cheeks, and glimmering irises - or his need for the boy's body, to see him writhing in pleasure against the sheets, to feel his warm minty breath against his upper lip, those soft fingers roving across his chest, with beads of sweat forming upon his brow—

"Why don't you go have a midnight snack?" Louis cleared his throat, sliding a surreptitious hand beneath his desk to adjust himself in his pants.

Harry hummed, rubbing his temple along the wall, mulling over the man's suggestion. In Harry's presence, the earth hardly rotated; time was lethargic, moments were so tangible that they barely had the chance to blossom into memories. Harry's aura constantly emanated even long after he physically dissipated. Louis always felt him, breathed him.

"Okay," the boy softly agreed. Harry turned around without another sentiment, shuffling back through the doorway, passing the bathroom and entering into his own bedroom.

Louis listened closely from his room as Harry slipped through the door, tiptoeing carefully down the hallway so he would not wake his mother. Harry keenly avoided the creaky sixth step, fluttered over the last eight to land in the foyer. Once he heard the boy meandering into the kitchen, the buzz of the refrigerator as he retrieved his snack of choice - Louis was finally able to relax back in his chair, cupping himself through his trousers.

 _Jesus_ he couldn't get the image of the boy out of his head: his pink lips dumbly parted, eyes blinking in confusion, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight.

"What the hell," Louis muttered to himself as he unzipped the flies of his trousers, dipping his hand in, circling his fingers around the base of his stiffening cock.

He was a right mess for this kid— an incomprehensible tangle of shame and needling desire. Louis's thoughts could not be explained or justified. He could hardly look at himself in the mirror without being overcome by the guilt. He felt he was taking advantage of the boy, using Harry's physical features and coquettish personality quirks as claims to some dark lascivious potential behind his childish gaze. Because Harry was precisely that– a boy, a _child_ — surely at this age more focused on having fun and breaking his mother's silly rules than exploring those adult concepts. But even so...

Louis exhaled softly as he tugged his cock out of his pants, pushed back his foreskin, tightened his grip around the crown and slid his thumb through the mess of precome as it bubbled from the tip. He bit his lip as he twisted his grip around the shaft, eyes fluttering closed to the mantra of _Harry Harry Harry_.

Louis was already so hard and in no time worked his wayup to a steady rhythm that had his hips pushing up into his fist to chase the coils of heat spiraling through his bloodstream. He shuddered, thumb dragging cruelly through the sensitive head.

He thought about Harry; about what the child would do if he went downstairs right now and cupped the back of his thighs, roughly shoved him against the closest flat surface and tore off his bottoms. He imagined how Harry would react, what he would do, what he would say. He wondered if Harry would like it— if he would croon at every word, arch at every touch, pant into every kiss — the thought was brutally appealing.

He rested his arm against the lacquered surface of his desk, the other pumping his cock slowly, fingers slipping loosely, gripping tightly and filling the air in soft, wet slapping sounds. _God_ , he was _filthy_. He knew if Harry or his mother found him in here like this he'd be sent away immediately, perhaps reported to the nearest police station.

Because shit, and that was it, wasn't it — the threat _,_ the danger, the _risk._ It made everything about this ten times more intense, every pull of his dick incite a warm, tingling sensation between his thighs, the promise of orgasm leering just beyond the purge of pleasure. 

"Oh, _Harry_ ," he gasped, rolling his hips up in time with his jerks. His thumb and forefinger pinched the tender place just beneath the crown of his cock, causing another bead of slick to form at the tip and dribble down the shaft. It was incredibly amorous; he was getting so fucking wet at just the _thought_ of having the boy, simply the closeness of his body had been enough to make Louis lose all semblance of self control. It was so _wrong._

Because he hardly knew the boy. He and Harry had only met a few days ago and he was already having putrid fantasies, imagining himself doing awful things to him. Things no child would be able to understand, let alone enjoy. Perhaps Harry was just good boy, completely pure and unbothered by the adult ideas of sex.

It would be oddly uncharacteristic, especially at his age, but even so, it was _possible_. Louis knew at fourteen he himself had been exploring his body and all the amazing ways he could feel. He hazily recalled nameless and faceless boys from his gym class, the mist of the showers, wandering eyes. He came to understand the difference between having sex and experiencing pleasure, as it was designed to be experienced.

Women came and went, but they simply weren't enough to satiate this animalistic side of him. He knew that what he wanted with Harry would be pure, potent and unadulterated - in its true form, the high as Louis first felt it at the age of fourteen with his hand around his prick and a boy's name tingling across his lips. He needed Harry in that same manner to remind him of those passing years, to tether him to the incorrigible euphoria.

" _Harry_ ," he groaned, biting at his wrist to silence his strangled cries. He could feel his climax flooding his senses, drowning him in a sea of unbearable sensation. He lost himself between the fleeting dimensions, trading the thoughts of guilt and shame for the adrenaline rush, the possibilities of pushing Harry against the wall, forcibly taking his lips, swallowing his sweet, high pitched moans. The worst part was that it could have happened a few scant moments prior - the boy was here alone and in the den of the lion, his precious body beckoning Louis, practically begging to be laved in his attention. What would have happened if Louis succumbed to this urge —

" _God, fuck_ ," Louis's fist moved over the tip of his cock and quickly returned to the base, his wrist cramping slightly with the speed of his encroaching peak. He finally submit to the feeling, his eyes twitching shut, muscles tensing. 

He gasped, trembling as the final, most intense wave of heat passed through his bones. He came quickly, a long pulse of wet warmth spilling over his knuckles. Louis bit the flesh of his wrist, stroking his cock until the feeling had completely surpassed.

He winced at the sensitivity and pulled his hand away, taking a deep, slow inhale before reaching toward the tissue box at the corner of his desk. Louis cleaned himself up tiredly, wiping the back of his hand over his sweat slick forehead before tossing the soiled tissue into the rubbish bin beneath his desk. His chest expanded and collapsed rapidly with the aftershocks; he rolled his shoulders, sinking back into the leather cushions of his desk chair.

All at once feelings of guilt, regret and disgust filled his mind, the lump of confusion reforming in his throat.

Because who was he? What did all of this mean? Louis wanted to convince himself these filthy fantasies did not amount to anything, that he only came up with them in order to feel even better, to make the orgasms stronger, but he genuinely couldn't say. Was he really capable of this madness?

If the time was right, one day, would he really bring Harry aside and express his desire for him, offer himself within an inch of his life that maybe the boy would accept? Or would it forever remain a mystery, a catacomb, a sheathed bundle of affliction he would keep here in the moment for only him and the universe?

Louis didn't know.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

« _isn't it rich? isn't it queer?_  
_losing my timing_  
_this late in my career_ »

—B. Streisand  


\- ✿ -

The next morning Louis utilized the bathroom to tend to his hygiene before returning to his desk chair. After his short-lived and rather unsatisfying wank last night, he had practically collapsed in bed. Now it was just around noon and he was pretty certain he had missed breakfast with Anne, but all in all he was too emotionally exhausted to care.

He opened to a new page of his diary, hoping to escape the pains of his perennial yearning. He sharpened his pencil, then swiped the shavings off of his workspace and into the rubbish bin. He rolled his shoulders after a minute, carding a hand through his messy hair before, _finally,_ a flow of inspiration overtook him.

' _This perpetual bereavement, this indelible impulse, this sinful, hackneyed quagmire that I've found myself in. Often I am so utterly compelled by guilt, unsure of the man I face in reflection. I'm a monster, a selfish and feeble minded degenerate. I haven't the slightest idea how to combat these advancements, how to silence the soreness of my soul, or to ignore these ignoble impulses. I love him, you see? I want to be better. For him. I want to be good and pure. I want to save him from this beast inside. The last thing I want is to hurt him, to repel an angel with amorous adulation. I could never ask that of a child — to give up his most precious years to satiate the sinner._

_'He should have his choice in this life; he's young. Harry is so young and he deserves someone his own age who leads the levity of childhood, a young boy or girl to giggle with and eat ice cream with and to share his first kiss. That much some nominal portion of my mentality acknowledges, and respects. Harry's soul, his body and mind, his ability to choose the direction for his life._

_'I pray the Lord can pardon my greed, the way I undress the child with my eyes, the way my fingertips ache to reach out and caress his cheek, to pull him close and mould his pillowy lips against my own. But even still, I know in all the corrosion of my heart that if Harry Styles were to come to me right now and beg for my touch, to tuck his small hands around my throat, those earthy irises devoured by a sea of black passion in pleading for an ephemeral dusting of my lips to his... I would gladly surrender myself to the light of a thousand infernos_... '

"Knock, knock," a soft, languid voice and the rap of knuckles on Louis's door pierced the silence of the upper level. _Harry_ , Louis's mind provided.

Before the older man could react, Harry was turning the knob and pushing open the door, carrying a thin metal tray of food into his room. The boy looked jaded, his features devoid of any definitive emotion. He placed the tray on the opposite side of Louis's desk, mindful of his workplace.

Harry then plopped down into the brown leather chair in front of his desk, drawing one knee up to his chest. He was wearing an oversized, faded red t-shirt and a pair of worn denim jeans - which he had rolled up to his calves. He rested his head against the back of the chair, taking a slow inhale before parting his lips to speak.

"Don't tell mother...," he started, calmly winding his pale fingers together, "... but I ate all your bacon,"

Louis blinked back into reality, glancing down to the disproportionate meal on display in front of him. To be perfectly honest, he wouldn't have cared if Harry had eaten all the food in the house and left him and his mother to starve. Especially if it would save him from this suffering.

"Oh," The man breathed, unable to formulate any other response.

"Are you mad at me?" Harry wondered, tilting his head to the side, dragging his index finger down his bottom lip, pulling it just slightly to reveal his teeth and gums. Louis shook his head quickly.

"You can have whatever you want, Love. I'm not very hungry this afternoon," he offered as he removed his glasses, massaging at his temples.

The boy gently bit his bottom lip, pensively tapping the pad of his finger against his chin. A brief, easy moment passed before Harry scooted forward in his chair, reaching into his mouth and pulling out his retainer. He dropped it in the corner of the tray.

Louis watched the boy in awe once again, breathless and lost between the cracks of time. Harry's pretty eyes scanned the plate before he picked up the fork, stabbing a sausage link and slipping it between his lips. He chewed slowly, wiping his mouth on his wrist before shoveling a pile of eggs onto his tongue with a similar grace.

"What are your plans for today?" Louis asked after a moment, leaning his elbow against the desk, resting his chin in his hand. Harry peered up, flicking his messy fringe out of his eyes.

"Not sure... Mom's been saying she wants to work on the garden. She might force me to help her pull weeds. Niall's gone to see his father this weekend. He won't be back 'till tomorrow. I don't know. Maybe I'll just watch cartoons," The boy answered as he gormandized Louis's biscuits, his tongue poking through the seam of his lips to catch a bubble of maple syrup in the corner of his mouth.

"Sounds pretty relaxed,"

"I suppose," the boy murmured once he finished, leaning back in the chair, wiping any leftover cooking grease onto his denim-clad thighs. He burped into his wrist, smiling sheepishly at the older man.

Louis lifted the brim of his coffee to his lips, the sole thing left untouched by the slender preteen lad.

"Harry, quit badgering Mr. Tomlinson!" A boisterous female voice suddenly resonated up the stairwell. Louis cursed internally, his eyes following Harry as he dramatically heaved his limbs up, snatched his retainer and positioned it back against his teeth before slipping out of Louis's room, shutting the door gingerly behind him.

"I thought I told you _not_ to bother him when he's working. I said bring him the food and come right back. You don't _listen_ ," Anne fussed from the foyer. Harry muttered an unintelligible retort under his breath.

"Don't walk away from me, young man. That is _disrespectful_ ," she trailed, her voice dissipating as she moved out of Louis's earshot. In the terse week he had been here, he already learned a lot about Harry's life, including how he treated his mother. The boy was constantly pushing her limits, spreading her patience thin.

And regardless of whether or not Louis had a penchant for Anne (in this case, _not_ ), he hated to see them going at it, the imminent stress it caused the both of them. He was growing undoubtably fond of the family, thought of himself as the newest edition to their sad bunch.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_« whether you flatter or shun;_   
_and whether you follow me_   
_or flee_   
_softly you consume_   
_and melt me »_

— Torquato Tasso

\- ✿ -

The next day was Sunday. As always, Louis aroused to the sound of a heated exchange between Harry and his mother. Anne had her good shoes on, was clipping her hair back and positioning her white sunhat on top of her head in preparation for the 11 am service at the church down the road. Louis had been up late again, finished his course curriculum somewhere around five in the morning and couldn't even bear the sound of Anne's voice pounding through the walls at nine. He turned onto his front, pulling the duvet over his head.

At least Anne would be attending the church picnic today. Maybe Louis would be able to get some real work done in her absence. While the woman was a lovely, humble soul, it was often difficult to work in her midst.

"Niall's not coming back until later this evening. So that means he's not going to be at the picnic," Anne hollered from the foyer as she placed the phone back down on its hook. Harry stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his head drooping lowly, fingers pausing where they looped around the tie in his collar. The boy huffed, yanked his black tie out of his collar, shoved past his bathroom door and tossed the innocent article of clothing on top of his wrinkled duvet. He kicked his slacks off, leaving him in a plain pair of checkered boxers and a half unbuttoned dress shirt.

"Harry, I'm leaving in five minutes! Are you coming or what?" the mother hollered after a long moment, tapping a short heel against the mahogany wood floor.

"I'm not going!" The boy called back. Louis watched from his own bed as Harry flopped back onto his mattress, rolling over to face the window.

"What do you mean, 'you're not going?' You've already gotten dressed," Anne mentioned. There was a beat of silence before the woman audibly sighed, then reluctantly traveled up the steps. She threw open the door to her son's bedroom, storming inside.

"Don't bother, alright? Since I'm not going to the picnic, _logic_ follows that I'm _not_ going to church," Harry declared, his voice muffled in the fabric of his pillow.

"You're a piece of work, Harry Styles. It could still be fun even if Niall isn't there. Come on, why don't we just go and see?" Anne tried, reaching a tentative hand out to fluff her fingers through her son's curls. The boy whimpered and turned his back on her, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm _not_ going,"

" _Fine_ ," she asserted, before turning back towards the door, "...but it's on _your_ conscience. And I want this room _spotless_ when I get back!"

"Okay yeah, fine, whatever!" Harry spoke over her.

And then Anne stomped back downstairs, grabbed her purse and her bowl of potato salad from the kitchen and exited the home, slamming the door shut behind her.

Then all was deafeningly silent. Louis couldn't help but peer over the top of his blanket and into Harry's room, examining the boy's crumpled form. He hoped Harry was alright.

It wasn't easy to be constantly yelled at; Anne had a habit of using verbal abuse to make Harry listen, often lashing out at him as an emotional response to his impudence, but it was only to satiate her own mind. The woman hardly ever thanked her boy or reinforced his good actions with praise. That didn't mean she didn't love him – indeed she loved him dearly – but it prolonged the boy's healing process.

Louis wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but he was all but certain he heard sniffles coming from Harry's room a few minutes later. Because the boy wasn't made of stone, though he tried to convince himself and his mother so.

Harry was still young and still learning to cope with the death of his father. He was also struggling with the rapid approach of adulthood on his infantile teenage years, learning to balance new responsibilities with his youthful predispositions for mischief and fun. Harry was being torn between two worlds, clinging to a fleeting childhood, and fighting to stay afloat. It was no surprise he was abstaining his mother.

Louis wished he could be the one to help Harry, to listen to him when he wanted to talk, to support his hopes and dreams and aspirations. Louis hadn't seen much of that from Anne since he'd been here, and he was more than willing to fill that role in the boy's life.

\- **✿** **-**

It was half past eleven when Harry got back up. Louis had already eaten breakfast and settled in to his writing for the morning. He hadn't been tracking Harry's movements, but could tell by the significant lack of sound emitting from the lad's room that he certainly was not tidying it, as his mother had so fearsomely instructed. He briefly thought about saying something to him about it, just so he wouldn't get in trouble.

He felt like using paper and pencil for his notes today, wanted the liberation of crafting each individual Phoenician character with his fingertips; he had stopped to sharpen the dulling lead for the umpteenth time when Harry wandered into his bedroom, resting his back against the wall.

The static hung ominously between them, thick and wordless like mountainous fog. Louis took off his reading glasses, folding and storing them safely in the corner of the desk. Harry's molars smacked against the bubblegum in his mouth, pale fingers closing around the collar of his dress shirt.

"I'm bored," he said with a sigh, reaching down to scratch at his bare thigh. Louis knew he had pants on, because he had seen him undress earlier, but it was an easy mistake to make. His cock was certainly fooled, twitching to life beneath his cotton pajama pants.

"And sleepy," Harry tacked on before coming around to sit in the brown leather chair, resting his elbows on the arm rests. His collarbones were so pure, jutting tightly from his skin in a delicate alignment. Louis's eyes traced their structure where the opened buttons of his collar exposed the dip of his throat and the shallow valley between his pectorals. Louis was convinced the boy had been crafted by God's angels in pottery class.

"Me too," Louis hummed, unable to contain the nervous jitter in his fingers at Harry's close proximity. They were alone in this house - no mother to encroach upon their space, no neighboring friends or conscientious woes. Only God would be the witness if Louis were to break his composure here and now - if he were to tug Harry against his chest, ravish his mirth and put blame upon his mouth.

"Have you been having trouble sleeping?" Harry queried, trailing a few fingers down the v of his neck. Louis swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple dipping, resurfacing.

"You can't imagine," Louis breathed distantly, unable to avert his eyes from the boy.

Harry inhaled, pushing a hand through his hair before dropping it lifelessly to his thigh, loudly crackling his gum against his molars. But it didn't bother Louis - not one bit. This perfect sun kissed child born of flowers and gold could never be the cause of Louis's irritability. That was one thing Harry - fortunately - had not inherited from his mother.

Then he blew a pink bubble and Louis watched it grow and grow until it popped and the boy sucked the gum back into his mouth, rolling the wad around on his tongue. Harry abruptly stood, rounding the desk to where Louis sat, fingers dumbly twisting a lead pencil in his half-inch sharpener.

The boy's eye caught the quaint little notepad resting on Louis's desk; he squinted curiously at the vapid, grey scrawl. Louis's heart thundered in his chest as Harry carelessly sat down on his lap, leaning his elbows onto the desk as he further examined the writing.

"What's that?" Harry asked. Louis took a deep, calculated breath.

"It's a poem,"

Harry shifted his weight against Louis's groin, his milky thighs rubbing against the fabric of Louis's pajama bottoms. The older man sucked in a bothered breath, bracing his hand on the armrest.

"Is that what you write? Poetry?" Harry murmured as he picked up one of Louis's pens and began doodling along the margins of the page. The older man nodded, resting his hand against the boy's back to steady him.

Louis strained silently, praying to every force of mercy to calm his stimulated nerves, regathering his composure and eradicate the natural inclination to get an erection. Because Harry was so damn beautiful, the way he bit his lip gently, resting his forearms against the desktop, leaning forward in concentration. He was so warm and his skin was so soft and his lips were so pink and Louis just couldn't focus on anything besides his unabashed need to take and take and take it all, but _Lord_ , he'd be outright _mortified —_

"Um... I– some of it. I write other things too... essays, short stories. I speak French as well—" The man was desperate for any kind of distraction from Harry's charms.

"No way! Are you for real?" Harry beamed excitedly, dropping the pen and craning back around to align their gazes. Louis chuckled, muscles loosening as he smoothed his knuckles along the dip of the boy's spine.

"Oui," Louis affirmed, leaning back against the chair. Harry hummed, rubbing a hand against his neck.

"Say something to me... like, in french," the boy asked, those eyes radiant, a dimple forming in his left cheek. And Louis could never, ever even aspire to deny him - not even if Harry begged him to travel to the edge of the earth.

"Um, okay," Louis thought for a moment, taking in the artful glint in Harry's pupils, the way his lower lip curled over his bottom row of teeth in anticipation. All at once the typhoon of emotion came tearing from his chest, an unstoppable, immovable force.

"Tu es magnifique. Je t'aime... Je t'aime avec mon esprit, corps et âme, Harry. J'espère qu'un jour je peux vous montrer," He rambled, the deep sentimentalities entering the atmosphere before he could even stop them.

A soft blush rose to the apples of the young boy's cheeks, tucking his chin against his chest. Although Harry did not know the translation of the words, Louis's underlying tone was fairly comprehensible. Harry knocked his tired head against Louis's shoulder for a curt moment, the aroma of his lavender skin, morning talcum powder and scented oils overwhelming Louis completely, drowning the older man in his peaceful presence.

It was easy to fall in love with a boy like Harry. No doubt it took a being of great composure to resist his wanton omniscience. Everything about the boy was forceful and intoxicating, like pits of fire, erupting, consuming. Certain days he embodied every sexual fantasy known to the depraved. Other times he was simple and plain and pale like a jaded schoolgirl, swinging on the back porch, picking at a scab on his knee. But nevertheless, Harry was addictive, from his deep, entrancing gazes to his teasing smirks, his thundering pulse and infectious laugh.

"Would you like to hear some more poetry?" Louis asked slowly, lethargically. He felt as though he were falling into a cove of dreams, drifting along the intricate currents of Harry, breathing in his aura as if the child were the root of his fickle life force.

Harry pulled away then, nodding as he rubbed his eye. Louis reached low into his drawer, pulling papers over his journal as he dug under the pile of folders and books, his fingers finally comings across a small, spineless anthology.

"This is my favorite book of poetry. It's by a French poet, Charles Baudelaire, called, ' _Les Fleurs du Mal_ ' or ' _The Flowers of Evil_ '," Harry nestled his head against Louis's neck, the older man curling his arm around the boy's midsection to keep him secure.

"There's this one poem... I just love. It's in French, but I could read it to you in English? If you'd like..."

"Yes, please," Harry turned sideways, squeezing his fingers around the sleeve of Louis's shirt, burying his face in the older man's neck.

"Alright. It's called, ' _L'Amour du Mensonge_ ', or... ' _The Love of Lies_ '," Louis flipped to the page, clearing his throat.

" _When I see you pass by, my indolent darling, to the sound of music that the ceiling deadens, pausing in your slow and harmonious movements, turning here and there... the boredom of your gaze; when I study, in the gaslight which colors it, your pale forehead, embellished with a morbid charm... where the torches of evening kindle a dawn, and your eyes alluring as a portrait's_..."


	7. Chapter 7

« _risk taker_  
_my soulless heart breaker,_  
_you touch my heart of gold_  
_the affects remain forever untold_  
_in ways i cannot express_  
_to caress your tainted flesh_  
_or feel your burn against my neck_ »

— _me ; 2016_

\- ✿ -

"He's been like that ever since he was young. His father spoiled him rotten, let him have whatever he wanted, just to see him smile. I think Harry has that effect on people," Anne sighed as she wiped the sweat from her brow, a bit of fertilizer smudging across her skin.

Louis sat on the bench with a book, awaiting further instruction. They were supposed to be burying the maple tree today and Louis thought it would be a swell idea for him to put some clothes on and go out for some fresh air and sunshine. He'd already wasted so many days in this house obsessing over Anne's son— he felt he was losing his grasp on reality. He wasn't supposed to stay here in Ramsdale forever, but the thought of leaving for the urban university this fall was becoming more and more disheartening.

"It's _impossible_ to discipline him. He needs some kind of structure. And you know, I can't be his mother _and_ his father. Ever since the war ended, jobs have been scarce– especially for women. Before you came, I was struggling just to put our next meal on the table," Anne explained, cupping her gloved hands around a pile of fertilizer and spreading it across the new bed of roses.

"You know I'm happy to help, Anne," Louis smiled gently, draping the ribbon along the spine of his book, closing it.

The woman glanced up and returned the smile, before quickly refocusing her attention to her flowers, "And believe it or not, I've been much happier since you've come around,"

Louis raised an eyebrow, twisting his fingers together.

"And Harry too,"

And that was good news; Louis loved hearing that this family enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed theirs. It was another reason he foreboded his imminent departure in September.

"I'm glad to hear it," he nodded respectively.

Anne stood then, peeling her gardening gloves off of her hands, dusting the dirt from her dark denim overalls.

"Are you ready to plant that tree?" She asked, tossing the pair of gloves on the opposite end of the bench.

"Sure," Louis rose to his feet, resting his book down. He followed Anne to the other side of the garden, where she had already started an orchard of sorts with an apple tree, a barren lemon tree, blackberries and strawberry bushels.

Louis had been trying his best not to think about Harry in the past few hours; his brain needed a rest. But he couldn't help but wonder how many days and nights Harry would frolic in this very garden, climbing to the very top of his mother's tree and scaring her to death that he might fall. He thought about what life was like for Harry when Des was still around, if the man maybe played ball with him here, as Louis's father had done with him before the man was drafted. He pictured Harry as a baby, his mother carrying his through the meadows, showing him the flowers and letting him experience the warmth of sunlight for the first time. He could almost see Harry's avid eyes soaking up everything, tiny hands reaching out to grasp the branches of a young oak tree.

These thoughts led Louis to believe he was dwelling on sacred earth, and that his actions and words should respect the years of childhood emanating in the atmosphere around him; the sequence that brought his Harry to him today.

"A little to the left, Dear. And... _perfect_ – don't move," Anne hummed as Louis held the thin stalk of the tree, it's roots resting just in the round of the small pit she'd gotten the young boy to dig last week.

Anne then used her switchblade to tear open a new bag of fertilizer, turned it upside down and dumped the entirety of it into the hole.

"Now you just hold that steady, and I'll put the stakes in," She said as she disappeared through the garden and into the shed, returning with two short yellow stakes and a length of twine.

"As you've probably already figured out, these are going to keep her growing steady once you let go. Just until her roots can settle into the ground. You only have one disfigured tree before you realize its importance,"

Louis chuckled lightly, watching as the woman looped the center of the twine around the slim trunk of the tree, tying one end to a stake and pressing it into the soft ground with the heel of her sneaker.

"I'll probably get a mallet later, just to make sure these are... really secure," Anne muttered to herself as she crouched down to implant the second one, making sure the string was taut so the tree wouldn't jostle.

"Alright. We're all finished," she straightened up, dusting her hands off. Louis removed his grasp on the tree, watching as it stood proudly without his aid.

"Thank you, Sir. Would you like some celebratory lemonade?" Anne suggested, as she cleaned up her tools.

"That would be lovely," Louis agreed, following her toward the patio.

"And... that's another thing about Harry— he's so rude. He talks back to me, mocks me when I'm speaking to him... sometimes even flat out ignores me. I have no clue where he acquired that dreadful attitude," Anne mentioned as she flicked her wet hands into the tub of the sink, drying her hands on a new dish towel from one of the wooden drawers. Louis rested his elbows on the island as Anne opened the refrigerator, removing a gallon of pink lemonade.

"Maybe Niall?" Louis considered.

"Heavens no. That boy is the one wholesome influence in Harry's life. His mother is a devout catholic," Anne proudly announced as she pulled down two glasses from the cupboard, placing them on the counter.

"Well, perhaps he's not picking it up from any of his friends. Maybe he's just... doing it on his own," Louis shrugged as Anne poured the beverages, slipping tiny little yellow umbrellas into each glass.

"I know Harry seems independent, but he's actually very insecure. He'll only try new things if he knows he's got someone to back him," She placed a glass in front of Louis, taking a sip of her own drink.

"I'm sure he'll grow out of it," Louis tried to comfort her. Anne's eyes grew dim.

"I don't know. Sometimes I fear... I coddled him too much as a boy. Des was busy working; it was always just he and I. Maybe this is Harry's way of rebelling against me and what I think is best for his life,"

"You've done a good job with him, Anne. This is how they get. Hell, I was just as bad when I was his age– if not worse...," Louis glanced down at his own drink, pressing the edge to his lips before slowly tipping it back.

"But then there's ... the way he _acts—_ I don't know, I just... I'm worried when he starts high school this fall, he won't fit in with the older kids. I mean, he's not exactly like other boys, you know?" Anne lowered her voice, eyes hardening at the kitchen tile. Louis nodded pensively, tracing a finger around the brim of his glass.

"To be quite frank... I just– I worry they might think he's queer," she whispered, skating a distressed hand over her forehead. Louis inhaled.

He knew it must not have been easy for a mother to realize, to fear her actions had resulted in her child's permanent misshaping. But the concept was fairly foreign to Louis. His own parents never really understood, choosing instead to beat their heteronormative beliefs into his skull day in and day out until he finally acquiesced and integrated them into his life.

Evidently he still had urges and predispositions, but he did not flaunt them with the airy carelessness Harry did. The thought, of the lad one day folding his beautiful wings away and conforming the rules of the modern world, utterly crushed his soul. Louis couldn't even image what Harry would be like or what he would look like if he surrendered all of his gender-bending personality quirks. If any one of them deserved to keep their identity, it was Harry.

"Oh come now," Louis folded his arms over his chest.

"Seriously! Harry would rather die than talk about it with me, I'm sure. But I am concerned and I've ... I've been thinking... there's this camp I've been looking into. I think it will help. He'll be around other young boys his age and hopefully, he'll learn how to be - for lack of a better word - _normal_ ,"

Louis wanted to stop her right there. While he couldn't stand the thought of her sending the child away, he knew throwing Harry into a strictly male society would not be enough to enact any positive behavioral change. If anything, it would be even more dangerous, potentially exposing him to violence and homophobia.

On the other hand, if Anne's son was homosexual, he would still find ways to act out, perhaps even more so in such a tight space with other young, sexually frustrated adolescent boys. Perhaps being so closely knit with others his age would cultivate Harry's sexual growth, cause that last puzzle piece to snick into place. Either way, Louis knew it was not a sound plan. He just wasn't sure how to tell Anne this without exposing his own secret.

"I see it as my last chance to get to him before he becomes a man. The camp starts the last week of July and goes until the twenty-first of August. That would give him plenty of time to get adjusted before school starts. Also, I think it would be good to get him away from us for a little while. Or... me, rather. He needs to learn how to be independent," She stammered.

"I understand," Louis nodded, and although he wanted nothing more than to drop down to his knees and beg the woman not to send his precious Harry away, he knew it would contradict everything about the identity he'd exuded the past couple weeks. And he had a greater duty to protect himself and his feral libido than to the boy.

"I'm glad I have someone to talk to about this. I can't exactly... shout it from the rooftops," Anne peered up, offering a tiny smile.

"I'm always here if you need me," Louis affirmed. Anne's eyes twinkled with something sharp, something deep and almost frightening– but Louis decidedly looked away.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

« _your eyes have their silence:_  
 _in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,_  
 _or which i cannot touch_  
 _because they are too near_ »

— E. E. Cummings  
  


\- ✿ -

Monday. Louis had been able to breathe for the last several hours. Harry was away with his friends for the majority of the day, and while Louis missed his presence dearly, Louis knew in order to regain his composure and clear mind they had needed a few hours apart. Harry was a lot to process, a heavy dose to consume; his flirtations were becoming something Louis could no longer take without intervals of peace. He had to document them in his journal, ruminate the events of the day, replay the words the boy had spoken in their daily encounters.

It was just before supper when Louis decided to freshen up. After writing, their exciting trip to the lake that morning, and working with Harry's mother in the garden that afternoon, he was feeling rather stiff so he settled in front of the bathroom sink and after washing his face, decided to shear the bit of beard filling along his jaw.

Louis lathered his face in the shaving cream, rinsing his razor beneath the faucet and tapping it against the edge of the sink, lifting it to his cheek and delicately dragging the blade across his skin, down over his neck. Suddenly, the door flew open and he startled, catching the edge on the cut of his jaw. He flinched as Harry shoved his way into the bathroom, drawing his wet t-shirt up over his head and flipping his damp curls out of his face.

"Hope you don't mind if I take a bath before dinner," Harry folded himself in half, popped the button on his chinos, pushing them down his thighs and kicking them into a pile by the door.

Louis examined the tear on his jaw, tentatively touching the tiny dribble of blood as it trailed down his throat. He took a deep breath, gathering his emotions.

Harry sat innocently on the edge of the bathtub and twisted the faucet handles a couple times, testing the temperature of the water out on his hand. When he deemed it satisfactory, he stood and went to the corner of the lavatory, retrieving a bottle of bath soap. Louis watched from the mirror as Harry dumped a generous amount in under the flow of water, soon a thick, pink cloud of foam collecting at the brim of the tub. He stood again to retrieve a fresh towel from the linen closet.

"Hand me a flannel, if you would," Louis told him, waving his free hand in vage gesture. Harry glanced between him and his reflection, eyes dimming with curiosity.

"For what?" he hummed as he pulled the washcloth out of the pantry, dangling it above Louis's outstretch hand.

"I nicked myself," Louis grumbled. Harry sat down on the toilet lid.

"Oh," he said with distracted eyes as his palms moved over his thighs. He was only in a tight pair of white briefs, and Louis was struggling against the need to turn to the right and let his eyes devour the boy's bare and beautiful body, or to glimpse at the mirror and make dangerous eye contact with him. It was becoming so hard to resist.

 _God,_ what if he grabbed Harry by the back of his throat, pushed his body against the bathroom door and mouthed across with sweet little neck, fisting a hand in his curls to tilt his head up and align their mouths? What if he kissed down Harry's soft, pudgy tummy, buried himself in his warm, milky thighs before tugging down the waistband of his pants, wrapping his fingers around _the boy's cock_ –

Louis blinked quickly, taking another forced breath to refocus his attention on the washcloth in his hands. He wrung it out under the steady stream of hot water, dabbing at his wound.

"That looks sharp," Harry pointed out, analyzing Louis's razor from where it sat apologetically in the back corner of the sink.

"It is. Do _not_ touch it," Louis made sure to say, because it was almost second nature for the boy to reach out and put his hands on anything that caught his eye. Harry's fingers twitched in his lap, as if he had been considering it.

"Bath is ready," Harry announced after a while. And Louis hadn't exactly drawn the connection between hearing those words and anticipating what was about to happen; before he could avert his gaze, Harry was pushing down his pants and pitching them toward the rest of his clothes.

Louis's face immediately flourished with color.

Because Harry was completely naked, like— _completely naked_. And at first Louis thought he was in a dream, drifting along yet another one of his fixative fantasies. He felt like his throat was closing up around feelings and passions and aspirations he could never express. Because everything else was static when Harry was in the room. And the boy was beautiful, an ageless masterpiece.

He reached into the tub and turned the faucet off, bones rippling beneath the pale skin of his back as he straightened his spine. Louis's mouth watered as his eyes trailed down Harry's form, from his slim waist down to his smooth legs.  Harry rotated just slightly, smirking as he caught the man's eye in the reflection of the mirror.

He knew the boy was going to be naked if he got in the bath, but he just. He wasn't. It wasn't even Harry's body that made him the most bewitched, but the insouciance he wore, the pride, the audacity—that he would strip bare in the presence of a man he'd known for less than a month without even passing a glance. Again, it left Louis wondering about the boy— if he often took his clothes off for an audience, if it genuinely didn't bother him, or if Harry had done it to tease him deliberately.

Louis quickly turned around, but in the corner of the mirror he could easily make out the shape of the boy's pert little bum as he climbed over the ledge of the tub.

" _Mm_ –  this feels good," Harry sighed blissfully as he sank in the water until all but his neck and shoulders were submerged. Harry tipped his head back slowly, pushing a hand through undulating waves.

Louis had to get out of there.

He decided that the universe didn't want him to shave after all; he rinsed the cream from his face and dried his skin with a towel before shouldering past the door.

He busied himself in the bedroom for a few minutes before he finally found suitable attire for dinner. He pulled a clean shirt on over his head, slid his arms through– all the while doing his best to ignore the gentle sounds of Harry wading in his bath, running the bar of soap over his arms and across his chest.

"How was the pool?" he called out a beat later; he didn't want Harry to think he was uncomfortable around him.

"Good," the boy replied. Louis could just faintly see him tilting his head back against the lip of the tub, rolling his shoulders, then bobbing deeper under the water.

"Did you have fun?" Louis wondered after a few minutes elapsed with no further response.

"Yeah," Harry easily answered.

Louis chewed the inside of his lip at the child's particularly devoid response.   
He sighed as he sat down at his desk chair, tapping a random pen against the smooth wood. From here he had the perfect angle to see into the bathroom and could watch with subtlety as Harry finished in his bath, stepping out of the tub and tying a white towel low on his waist, his muscles glistening with streams of water.

Louis thought about saying something more, perhaps asking Harry about his friends, but the sound of Anne calling them down for dinner broke the silence before he could even try. Louis reluctantly stood, taking one final, indulgent glimpse at the young boy before leaving his room and closing the door behind him.

"There you are. My mother always told me food was the way to a man's heart," Anne grinned as he entered the kitchen, the strong aroma of baked potatoes and buttered bread filling his nostrils.

"She was right," Louis chuckled, brushing his fingertips across Anne's shoulders as he walked around the corner of the counter. He grabbed a potholder and scooped up one of the dishes from the stove, examining its contents as he carried it to the dining table.

"I took your suggestion and made baked potatoes to go with that meatloaf. I can never get Harry to eat his vegetables, but he loves french fries, so I suppose this is the easiest way to trick him into it," She mentioned as she readjusted a loose pin from the back of her hair.

"I was the same way when I was young. Even still, sometimes," Louis explained as he returned to the kitchen, removing the dishes from the china cabinet.

"See, I've always been really into my diet. I hardly eat sweets. I want to stay young and beautiful forever," Anne hummed, her eyes shining. Louis smiled at her, caressing a stack of plates to his chest.

"Well you certainly are beautiful," Louis easily said.

"You flatter me, Louis," She feigned an indifferent chastisement, lightly touching her collarbones. Nonetheless, she blushed. Louis could definitely see where Harry acquired his flirtatious attributes.

"You know I appreciate your help, but I don't like you working when you pay rent here. Really, _he_ ought to be doing this," Anne complained after watching Louis position a plate in front of each of the three chairs. He waved his hand in dismissal.

"It's no trouble, I'm sure Harry's just getting dressed," he moved back into the kitchen, next gathering the silverware. He heard Anne muttering something about how awful Harry was, before she exited the dining room to the foyer.

"Harry Edward Styles!" She barked, "You get down here _right now_!"

Louis winced as he set glasses at each of the designated place holders.

" _Jesus_ , I'm coming!" the boy yelled back as he dragged his heels along the carpet.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," she chided as Harry finally descended the stairs. He rolled his eyes and Anne thwacked the back of his head as he walked into the dining room, her frown deepening in disgust.

"Ow!" the boy whined theatrically, clutching the nape of his neck, "That's child abuse, you know. It might bruise. I could call the police and tell them you've been beating me,"

"But you won't, will you? Now _sit_ _down_ ," Anne clipped, pointing to an empty seat at the table. Louis sat slowly, watching as the boy pulled out the chair, dropping his flaccid weight onto it.

"Ah, I almost forgot about dessert!" Anne fretted, then paused, waved her hand and took her seat anyway.  
"Well, I guess I can leave it in the ice box until we finish,"

"What did you make?" Harry wondered, picking at the chipped lacquer on his thumb nail.

" _Nothing_ that concerns you. After your behavior this weekend I wouldn't expect getting anything sweet for a long time,"

" _Moooom_ ," Harry bemoaned, knocking his head back against the chair.

"And you can take that ungrateful attitude to Niall's house and see if his mother will be so kind as to feed you home cooked meals every night,"

Louis cleared his throat, uncomfortably. He knew Anne was right to constitute some sanctions on Harry's behavior, but he himself couldn't stomach the thought of telling the boy no. Louis simply couldn't imagine it— to see that light drain from Harry's eyes, those lips curving downward, fingers furling into frustrated fists at his sides. Louis was indeed under a spell; sooner or later he would have to find away to break it.

Dinner was a simple affair. Anne blessed the food and they ate with little exchange for the first course. Anne was the one who broke the silence, going on  to Louis about their work in the garden, trying to convince him to join her on other projects as well. Harry stayed uncharacteristically mute, his fork roving ravenously across his plate, fingers grasping his glass of milk, tipping it against his lips to quench his dry throat. Louis listened to Anne's ramblings, but couldn't help smiling when he saw the little white mustache lining Harry's upper lip.

The boy looked up then, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Louis made sure to nod accordingly to Anne's sentiments as he lifted his napkin to his upper lip, glancing across the table in gesture to the young lad. Harry lifted the sleeve of his pajama shirt to his mouth, dragging the rough cotton against his lips.

Louis's stomach fluttered with butterflies, but he smiled amiably at Anne and after a moment, drifted back into the flow of her conversation.

Before he knew it, Harry was slipping out of his chair and into the kitchen with his plate and empty glass. Anne continued her distracted ramblings, hardly noticing the lengthy strip of time her son was spending in the kitchen. Louis snickered into the folds of his napkin as the boy returned, dusting a splatter of crumbs away from his mouth.

Anne called Harry over, kissing his temple and carding her red nails through his curls. The boy grimaced at his mother's affections, whining and yanking out of her hold. She then explained to him why he wasn't being allowed to have dessert, telling him maybe there would still be a piece of trifle left when he learned to respect the adults in his life, attend church and pull his weight around the home. The boy nodded sleepily. He wasn't necessarily agreeing, but he seemed too tired (and perhaps too full) to argue. Harry quickly kissed his mother on the cheek, then disappeared up the stairs, mumbling a hasty, ' _goodnight'_ to both of them.

Anne stood a few minutes following his exit, returning to the dining room with two glasses, two forks and two servings of strawberry trifle topped with whipped cream. She placed one of each in front of Louis, disappearing once more to grab a bottle of red wine.

"It's so hard to keep a life when you have a family to take care of. Harry alone is a handful, always has been," Anne breathed as she poured him a relatively small amount. He took a forkful of his dessert, placing it on the flat of his tongue.

"I can imagine," he nodded, "But he's old enough to take care of himself,"

"You'd assume so... but he doesn't. I still have to remind him to wash his hair. He's like a lost boy," she laughed tenderly, filling a significantly larger dose of alcohol into her glass, then placing the bottle on the table.

"He is a handful," Louis gently agreed, thinking back to what had happened earlier in the bathroom.

"It's just...," Anne breathed, dropping her gaze, "I don't want to have any regrets. I don't want to spend the last decade of my life running along after my son. I need to have my own excitement,"

"What kind of excitement?" Louis chuckled, watching Anne's index finger as it looped around a loose strand of her hair, twirling it thoughtlessly.

"I'm sure I don't know," her tone grew somber, eyes dimming. And Louis understood the mid-life crisis. He struggled with his own existence; the fact that he was an unmarried, thirty-seven year old introverted literary nerd, that he was still uncertain about the map for his career and that due to the travel of said career, he was hardly able to maintain any of his relationships from home. It certainly wasn't easy.

"You can't get discouraged, Anne," Louis said, placing a tentative hand on top of hers. The woman looked up.

"I get this way too... sometimes. I have regrets and I have fears... but I think I've learned not to let them control me,"

Anne nodded slowly.

"And you're wonderful you know that? I don't know how you manage to work _and_ take care of a garden _and_ look after Harry _and_ keep the house in order. It's astounding,"

"I don't want my life to pass me by—"

"Your whole life is _ahead_ of you," Louis insisted, shaking his head. Anne exhaled, pausing for a minute before her walls broke down. She forced a laugh.

"You always know what to say," She marveled, tracing her fingertips over his knuckles. The man glanced down to where their skin collided. He swallowed thickly at the realization that Anne was no longer wearing her wedding band.

"I know you're just our tenant... but you– you've given me more than I could ever hope to ask in a companion. I mean, I can't believe a person so kind and gentle and _caring_ could come into our lives,"

Louis nodded, his skin starting to itch as she brushed her thumb against the back of his hand. Anne's eyes glowed with truth, with anxious ambition.

He hated himself. In that moment, when it all came crashing down. He had plucked the feathers of a flightless dove, made this helpless and heartbroken woman fall for him. This was beyond the cruelest thing to ever ruin him, the one thing to compete with his lust for the woman's son. Lucifer would shun his very existence.

"Thank you, but I just... I try to do what anyone would –" Louis stammered, trying to slide his hand out from under hers.

"That's not true. This is... this is something different, something _more_. I know you feel it too," Anne persisted.

Louis knew it was about to happen before Anne leaned forward with a burst of intuition and locked their lips.

"Oh– um," Louis froze. The embrace was chaste and uninviting; she swept back almost as soon as she'd done it, taking her alcohol slick lips along with her. He blinked several times to regain his composure as Anne's eyelids flickered open, her face flushing with immediate warmth.

"Dear, I'm so sorry! I - I don't know what came over me," Anne rushed, lifting both hands to her mouth in shock.

Louis flailed his hands frantically.   
"No, no! It's alright, I just. You caught me a little off guard, but um–"

The tension in the room expanded like a taut rubber band, and Louis did not harbor the mental strength to anticipate its snap.

"What am I _thinking_? _"_ Anne choked as she abruptly stood from the table, pacing along the carpet. Guilt overcame Louis as he tried to come up with a way assuage her without further belying his affections.

Because he most certainly did not have romantic feelings for Anne, but she was his landlord and his cook and his _friend_ and most of all Harry's bloody _mother_ for Christ sakes— he couldn't simply toss her to the wind or disregard her feelings. But Louis couldn't lie, and he couldn't just say nothing, because saying nothing would only aggrandize this misunderstanding, for it certainly would not bring an end to Anne's heartfelt advances. So he was lost at the intersection of two impossible paths.

"Anne, please don't—," he started, unsure of how he would even finish the sentence. Don't? ' _Don't'_ what? ' _Don't overreact, Don't worry about it, Don't work yourself up over a little kiss, because it was nothing, right? Don't make this awkward? Please don't – don't say you love me; you'll regret it, because I don't love you back?'_

All of those options were equally heart shattering, and Louis decided his inevitable rejection would be enough to destroy her without expressing those sentiments.

Moments passed and Anne never did return to their exchange. She must have decided to pretend it didn't happen which - was indeed the course Louis had been contemplating as well. The woman scrubbed a hand down her face, huffing as she grabbed her glass of wine and brought it to her lips, downing it in one motion. She then moved to collect the dishes, desperate to distance herself from her embarrassment.

"I, uh, I can help you with these—" Louis finished his drink and rose to his feet as well, lifting the empty glass.

"I'd rather you didn't, actually," Anne interjected, placing a hand on his bicep. She quickly removed it as if she'd been burned, shaking her head.

"I think I need some time to... to clear my head right now," she strained.

"Are you sure? I could keep you company for a bit?" Louis offered, helpless to redeem himself. Anne chewed her lip as she carried their dishes into the kitchen, Louis following not far behind.

"No... um, that's alright, Louis. I wouldn't want to keep you up,"

"Only if you're sure," he rubbed his forehead, because believe it or not, he did care for the woman. Just, not quite in that way.

"Yes," she ran the tap water over the dirty pile of dishes, reaching up into her window sill to retrieve the bottle of dish soap.

"Well. Goodnight," Louis grimaced, placing his empty wine glass on the counter and awkwardly turning out of the room.

"'Night, Louis,"

 

 


	9. *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dubious consent

« _his cheeks are_  
 _as a bed of spices,_  
 _as sweet flowers; his lips like lilies,_  
 _dropping sweet smelling myrrh_ »  
 ****  
— _Song of Solomon 5:13_

\- ✿ -

The dark moon creeped in through his curtains, illuminating his flushed skin. Louis turned onto his front, pushing his pillow up under his neck to support his head in a more comfortable sleeping position. He hoped it would help his body get the message and fall asleep.

He huffed in agitation as he tossed onto his back again, the creaky mattress springs disrupting the quiet night. Louis watched moonlit shadows dance on the ceiling above.

He was thinking about Harry.

Once again, his mind was conflicted with these midnight phantoms. His heart palpated violently with an abundance of overwhelming possibilities. The boy was merely a few steps away, in the room just adjacent to his— Harry's young, gentle body and those sweet, blameless lips. Louis couldn't help but cup himself in his bottoms, curling the pad of his thumb and forefinger around his cock through the fabric.

He wondered what Harry would sound like if Louis were to touch him that way, how his body would react to experiencing what was still quite a new, uncharted sensation. He often thought about what it would be like to kiss Harry, how his lips would feel, how his tongue would taste. He thought about Harry's powdery soft, lavender smelling skin, his silken curls, what it would feel like to press his nose against them and rove his fingers across the boy's smooth, faultless flesh. He imagined pulling Harry on top, skating fingertips over the curve of his spine, sinking his teeth against the juncture of Harry's neck and shoulder as he rocked his hips up against him.

Louis could feel his heart rate climbing, stomach dipping with an inexplicable excitement as he rubbed his palm against his clothed erection, letting his head fall back against the pillows. Fuck, he could almost feel the boy's warmth, could almost hear his desperate cries—

He was so close to shoving his fingers past his waistband and folding his fingers around the shaft of his cock when a tiny, inadmissible mewl pierced the static.

Louis froze then with a hand against his prick, his breaths labored as he attempted to muffle the fact that he was awake. He slowly removed his hand from himself and tucked the sheets up to his neck, listening closely for any sign it was real and not simply a mental additive of his masturbation. It wasn't until three beats later that he heard another similar noise, a soft, breathy whine coming from Harry's room.

Louis was instantly overcome by a million frenzied curiosities. Shit, was the boy _awake_? Could Harry hear him in here, touching himself, getting off to the thought of him? It sounded as if the boy were up, and oh— a shiver coursed up Louis's spine at the thought — what if Harry was touching _himself_?

That's exactly what it _sounded_ like— the boy awoken in the middle of the night by a stiffness in his pants, pushing his little fingers under the elastic band and wrapping them around himself. Louis groaned softly into the side of his pillow, his erection throbbing painfully. The thought alone was just, _fuck –_ because _Harry_ thinking naughty things, rubbing one off so _close_ to him, his soft angelic moans resonating against the walls of the corridor and _tormenting_ Louis in his restlessness.

And Louis _knew_ he should have just stayed where he was, rolled over and forced himself to go to sleep and to not ask anymore questions. He knew he should have done more to subdue the devilish desires, fought them that night, drowned himself in prayer and biblical devotion until he could at least say he'd salvaged his soul.

But he was weak. Louis had never felt more desperate in his entire life. He had become a fool from this obsession; he had to test his fabricated theories and live out his deadly dream. He could no longer decompose in pining. Especially when Harry would be leaving before the end of the month. Louis saw it as one of his - if not his last - chance to have the thing he wanted most in the world. 

And so with a brave, yet uncertain, gulp of oxygen, Louis sat up, pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He rested the soles of his feet against the floor, pausing only to savor the softness of the carpet between his toes. He stood gingerly, rubbing a hand over his face as he padded toward the bathroom.

Harry's boyish sounds grew louder with each tentative step and Louis had to pause as he passed through the bathroom simply to gather his composure. Was this another mirage of his dreams? Was he really, _finally_ about to commune with the figments of his imagination? He'd never even attempted anything like this before.

What would he even do if behind that door Harry was awake and masturbating? Would, _fuck_ would he try to _talk_ to Harry? What would he even say– ? Would he try to touch Harry or help him out? [God, that sounded _creepy_. And what if the boy didn't want him to...? That would make everything alarmingly awkward.] Or would Louis push open the door, make eye contact with Harry, freeze once he realized what he was doing, and flee out of embarrassment. Knowing himself, despite the yearning in his marrow, he leaned toward the latter of the three.

He glanced to his left and caught his reflection in the mirror, and he couldn't help but scrutinizing his own intent. Those eyes were dark and desperate, apathetic and incapable of comprehending the consequences of what he was about to do. Louis bit at a knuckle on his left hand, and when he could no longer stomach the feelings of guilt and shame, he looked away. He swallowed, curling his fingers around the knob of the jointed door.

 _Here goes bloody nothing_ , he thought. He released one final exhale, along with his fears, then twisted the knob to the right and pushed open the door.

The hinges creaked gently and the bathroom nightlight bled an orange glow across Harry's floor. Louis had never been inside of the room before; in the past couple weeks, maybe once or twice he'd been able to peer in if the bathroom doors had been left ajar. He would admit he liked to observe the boy lounging in his bed, fussing with his mother or changing for bed, but Louis had never taken the opportunity to surround himself with all of the boy - to lose himself in all of Harry's lurid youth.

He glanced over to Harry's bureau, to the stack of magazines and books, stolen red bottle of nail varnish, brown boar bristled hairbrush and the opened pack of pink bubblegum all strewn aimlessly across its surface. His eyes moved to the thin, white, lace curtains, the open window welcoming a meek breeze that showered his hot skin. Lastly, Louis's gaze fell to the small twin bed in the center of the room, his Adam's apple dipping slowly as he took in the figure moving beneath the sheets.

He was on holy ground; Louis let his eyes fall shut to the sound of the boy's gentle noises, his hand absentmindedly drifting down to cup his cock through his pants. Here, every searing sensation was heightened, each emotion painfully toxic to the body and soul. Louis floated in the dead space, unthinking, barely breathing, only feeling - _Harry_.

 _Harry_. Harry on Saturday mornings, Harry on Sunday afternoons, Harry underneath the starry night sky. Because Harry was — he wasn't just a person. Harry wasn't just this small, fourteen year old suburban boy, rotting under this roof with his winsome, widowed mother. Harry was not sordidly a beautiful boy with supple, seductive features, captivating charm and the spirit of a seraph. Harry was not just her queer and uncontrollable son, the sharp tongue and sweet balm and the ten year temper tantrum.

No.

Harry was a holy city, a mantra, a state of mind, a sacred mountaintop, a thick, heady surrounding— a feeling so lethal it could destroy a man, render a lifetime of hard labor banal and bombastic in the grand scheme of empyrean existence. Harry was enlightenment, a powerful drug induced stupor, and the impermeable reminder that to dust all men would obliviously return. And it was unbelievable how quickly this aberration had immersed him. Louis never stood a chance - and he was only now starting to realize it.

Harry flipped onto his back, his face coming into view. His fingers closed frustratedly around his blanket and he pushed it off of his body, sweat slick skin shimmering in the subtle moonlight. The boy's curls stuck to his temples, damp strands looping around his ears; the buttons of his sleep shirt hung loosely around his collarbones, exposing the quick rise and fall of his chest. Louis's breath hitched at the sight: Harry's eyelids flickering, pale throat quivering with each tremulous inhale, his abdominal muscles spasming in agitation.

He was having a wet dream.

Louis wondered what it was about, or _who_ \- rather. Fuck, he wished he could see into Harry's mind and learn all the boy's dirty secrets.

The door hinges made their last cry of protest as he pushed it open all the way before taking slow, hesitant steps toward the center of the room. Harry moaned gently, his sweet voice perforating the silence as he pushed his hips into the air. Louis bit down on his lip, the sharp twinge of arousal growing just below his navel.

"Harry," Louis hummed, reaching a hand out and gently stroking his knuckles against the boy's knee. Harry's brow creased, eyelashes wavering.

Louis felt lightheaded with arousal, the tight oxygen, the sound of Harry's need, the roar of blood rushing in his ears; he placed one hand on the headboard to steady himself as he reached down to caress Harry's chin, gently lifting his head to sit upon the pillows.

"M'm," Harry mumbled, his mouth parting innocently. Louis traced a thumb over his soft lips, heart swelling with the impulse to just lean in for one tender kiss.

"God, you're so beautiful, Harry," Louis whispered as he slipped onto the bed behind Harry, tucking his chin against the boy's neck. He smelled so good, like fresh rivers and a valley of flowers, all at once the purified wings of angels and the death-dealings of demons. Louis smoothed his knuckles down the boy's chest, tracing the loose buttons of his shirt. His fingers slid past Harry's belly, down to the jut of his soft hips. His pelvis lurched faintly forward in response to the light, taunting touch near his sensitive groin.

"You're desperate for it, hm?" Louis chuckled. He teasingly rubbed Harry's skin through the fabric of his sleepwear, watching his hips chase the fleeting contact.

"'Bet you need it," Louis cooed, fingers slipping along the waist of Harry's bottoms, teasing the band of elastic. Harry gasped through his nose when Louis pushed his hand underneath, curling his fingers around the boy's erection.

"That's it, Lovely... you're alright," Louis murmured, nudging his nose against the side of Harry's neck, squeezing his knuckles around the boy's shaft.

"Lou– Louis..." the boy whimpered then, pressing the tip of his tongue to the seam of his lips. Louis's stomach jumped at the sound of Harry speaking his name, his young voice hoarse with sleepless arousal.

"I'm right here, Baby," He assured and _God, the boy was so fucking gorgeous_ \- a vision of perverse phantasm, the proper aphrodisiac of his absorption -

"Are you hot?" Louis asked, brushing his lips against Harry's ear, tugging at the boy's cock beneath the confines of his sleeping pants.

"Yeah," Harry took a shaky inhale, his bones rattling with pleasure. Louis nipped at the juncture of Harry's neck and shoulder, moving to suckle the corner of his jaw. He pressed his hips against the boy's backside, free hand slipping around him and up under his shirt to feel the skin of his lower tummy.

Like this, so close- he was unable to resist the pull of Harry's body. And he loved it. He couldn't even _breathe_ without being accosted with Harry's scent, which was just another gentle reminder that all of this was _real_.  
Louis rolled his hips forward, a breathy moan forming in his throat as he imagined tearing Harry's tight pants down the back of his pudgy thighs, grabbing his wrists, parting his cheeks, kissing his neck and slowly pressing into him—  
It had been _so long_ since he'd had a proper fuck.

"Do you want to take this off?" Louis shuddered, tickling his knuckles along the hem of Harry's shirt.

Harry's eyelids flickered, his ribcage collapsing. "Okay," he agreed, hands traveling down to undo each button. Louis gulped at the sight as he slid his hand out of the way, unbelieving of how easy it was to get the boy to take his clothes off. He would've been asking ages ago.

He mouthed over Harry's shoulders as they came into view, reluctant to pull away when Harry tugged each arm out of the sleeves, balling up the shirt and tossing it to the edge of the bed. Louis hummed along the boy's porcelain skin, his thumb drawing slow circles into the crown of Harry's cock.

"These as well?" Louis wondered, gliding his hand out from the boy's pants, pausing to rub the incredibly supple skin of his lower stomach, just where the thin, wiry curls were starting to grow. Before Harry could even form his lips around an audible response, Louis impatiently pushed the waistband down. He didn't want to make a mess, so he decided to leave the briefs on.

Louis slid his hand back into Harry's underwear, closing his fingers around the shape of his prick. He trailed his lips down Harry's neck, rocking against him in the same rhythm in which he stroked Harry's cock. He whimpered lowly, the movement of his vocal chords buzzing across Harry's skin. Louis twisted his fingers around the girth, gently pinching the head with his thumb, smearing the precome as another blurt dribbled down the shaft.

"Oh my _God_ ," Harry gasped softly, arching, his pale fingers twisting into the sheets.

"You're so beautiful," Louis moaned once more, the agony of his soul making everything about this unbearably antagonistic - so much so he feared he would rouse in a cold sweat somewhere mountains, lowlands and light years away to the epiphany that Harry and this night were nothing but a twisted series of hellish nightmares.

He wished he could crawl on top of Harry, hold him against the mattress and shower him with kisses, properly display his love. He wanted to rock his hips against Harry, to sink his teeth into the supple skin of his jugular, mark him so that everyone could see who he belonged to. That was all Louis really wanted after all– to have Harry, to be able to say this beautiful boy was his. It was so painfully good to think about - to force these torturous thoughts onto the forefront of his mind because he knew somewhere in that dark abyss, Harry would never be his. He had his hopes of course, but to put it plainly, a boy like Harry was too good to be true. He was a free spirit, a rushing tide, far too wild and raucous to be tied down in a relationship. Especially one with a man two decades his senior–

But Louis liked to imagine an ideal world. He liked to picture what would happen if Anne didn't send Harry away, if he had the rest of the summer to make the boy fall in love with him. He liked to imagine the kisses they'd share, the secrets, the heady nights of passion. He liked to think that maybe this wasn't the end.

Louis brushed his lips against Harry's shoulder, his head whirring with those unpleasant thoughts. He wasn't sure how he would last without Harry, without the boy turning onto his back so he could see his face- reaching out, curving his pale hand around the shape of his cheek. Harry's eyes rolled back against the pillow, his diaphragm fluttering with each sporadic breath.  

"Has anyone ever touched you like this, Babe?" Louis wondered, gently biting the corner of Harry's jaw. The boy whined, his toes curling in the sheets.

The older man circled his fingers around the base, sliding it up, down, rubbing the tip, smearing his slick to smoothen the glide. Harry took a sharp gulp of air as his body jerked forward, his eyelids clenching.

The man hummed, calling the boy's attention back to his question. Harry just exhaled, a small tear winding its way down the inner corner of the his cheek. Louis rounded his hips harder against Harry's bum, the friction between the fabric burning something awful against his cock. He ached with the desire to push his bottoms down a bit, rub one off against the dip of Harry's spine and come across his milky skin - but he knew this wasn't about him.

The boy watched closely as Louis leaned over him, touching his free hand to Harry's lips, dipping his thumb in against the flat of his tongue. Harry swallowed hard, something indecipherable passing over his delicate features.

"Hm? Are you a virgin, Harry?" Louis pressed, tightening his grip around the boy's erection. Harry whined as Louis's fist dragged up to the head, then rounded back to the base.

"No," Harry pushed, his brow furrowed at Louis's crude suggestion. The boy was already too overwhelmed with pleasure to fully focus on the question, but Louis knew from the way Harry responded to his touch that he couldn't have been very experienced. He was only fourteen, after all -

"Yeah? You've done this before?" Louis raised Harry's chin, touching the boy's unsteady gaze.

He could tell Harry was close. He soothed his hand down the boy's chest, pausing to pinch a nipple before stilling his hand altogether and focusing his attention on Harry's orgasm. Harry's features twisted in pleasure, his stomach muscles tensing as Louis circled the pad of his thumb into the boy's leaking head.

"Have you ever had someone's fingers inside of you?" Louis's voice dropped an octave, his throat closing up around the words. Harry knocked his head against his pillow, looking up to the older man and boring those gentle eyes into his own–

"I bet you'd like that, huh?" Louis asked, toying with the tender underside of Harry's cock. The boy's entire body pulled taut like a bowstring, his nose pinching, hips stuttering —

" _Shit, fuck-_ ," Harry cursed, his short nails scraping at the nape of Louis's neck. Louis exhaled in relief at just the sound and sight of the boy's climax. In that moment, Harry's pleasure was his force of life. He kissed the corner of Harry's trembling lips as the warm wetness spilled out over his knuckles.

"That's it... you're so good, Harry," Louis hummed, moving his fist up and down until the shuddering ceased, Harry's body going rigid with the aftershocks. The boy took an unsteady inhale, his fingertips skating around Louis wrist.

"Do you have tissues?" The older man asked after a moment, gingerly removing his hand from Harry's boxers.

"Yeah, on the nightstand," Harry mumbled, his body melting against the mattress as Louis pulled away, craning his neck to find them.

Louis grabbed a pile of tissues with his free hand, using one tissue to wipe his other hand, then using the rest to clean the mess between Harry's thighs as thoroughly as possible. The boy didn't fuss or fight; Harry laid pliantly against the sheets and watched Louis take care of him with hooded eyes, his breaths slowly evening out.

"Where's your bin?" Louis asked as he kneeled into the end of the bed, folding his free hand around Harry's ankle, soothing the pads of his fingers against the bone. The boy turned his head drowsily, tossing his wrist in gesture to the bin under the his desk, beside the reading lamp.

Louis retrieved Harry's shirt from the floor, likewise his pants.   
"Sit up for me," he instructed, sitting next to him on the mattress.

"I can do it," Harry grumbled, but made no move to take the shirt or dress himself. He sat up obediently, offered each arm and presented no complaint as Louis refastened each button, leaving the last two of his collar open.

"Don't want those," Harry said petulantly, flopping back onto the mattress. Louis looked down at the pajama bottoms, then tossed them toward the hamper of Harry's dirty clothes.

Louis slid his hand over Harry's knee, caressing his thigh. The boy exhaled, flexing his toes.

There were no more words left to exchange, no more feelings left to misconstrue. Louis couldn't find any other ways to dismiss his affections, or construct any excuses to bury them in. This was the lethal injection; this was reality. And while he'd thought touching Harry would make him feel whole again, it only worsened his ache.

"You alright?" Louis asked, moving to wind his fingers around the boy's wrist. Harry just looked at him, his chest rising, falling.

"Yeah," He replied after a long moment, peering down to where Louis shared his touch.

The moment wasn't easy to understand; it was almost impossible to describe the chemicals which moved through Louis bloodstream. It wasn't quite guilt, but an unsatisfactory hybrid of gluttony and deprivation. He sat upon the most opulent throne, with a crown of gold and rubies, yet he wallowed in the utmost depths of disease and poverty. He was a rich fool at best – wealthy, and naked.

"Um... don't tell anyone, okay?" Louis whispered, hating himself even more as the words entered the air. He wished Harry would ask why, make him feel even worse about the events which just took place. Because he needed some kind of conviction. He couldn't take these wordless whiles.

But the child just stared.

"I know," Harry finally said, voice devoid of emotion.

Louis simpered, sliding his hand away from Harry's. The earthy irises followed him as he stood from the bed, stealing one last glance before turning toward the bathroom.

"'Night, Harry," Louis waved, cupping the bulge in his pajama pants as he pulled the joint door shut behind him.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

« _share each day with me,_  
 _each night,_  
 _each morning_ »

— Andrew Lloyd Webber 

\- ✿ -

The glimmer of sunlight was livid and caustic, serving only to disturb Louis's much needed rest. He could've sworn to falling asleep a mere moment ago and could already feel the exhaustion settling into his bones. He pressed his fingers against his temples in a futile attempt to serenade the blooming headache.

He frowned, stopping all movement when his eardrums caught a dull, but poignant clicking sound intruding the typical silence of his bedroom. He stilled against his mattress, listening intently to see if the sound would continue, and  sure enough another soft series of _click click_ 's filled the air. 

A moment passed before Louis lifted his torso just a smidgen, shifting to the side, rubbing his eyes in discombobulation.

He really wasn't surprised when he craned his neck toward the desk at the far side of his bedroom and found the tender silhouette of a boy sitting in his window, peering through the curtains with the clip of one of his ballpoint pens hooked over his bottom row of teeth.

Louis swallowed thickly, heart leaping in his chest at the sight of Harry in his briefs, only the last three buttons of his pajama top fastened, eyes hooded with equal exhaustion, and those lips loose with indifference.

Harry inhaled slowly, his chest expanding carefully; he didn't look in Louis's direction and after a few seconds the older man easily assumed he had not seen him at all. So he shifted carefully, laying down on his back once more.

He stared at the ceiling with a heavy heart and a skull bursting with the fruits of imagination. While it may have seemed comforting, an eerie tone could also be drawn from his presence. Why was he in here? Had Harry snuck into his room while he was asleep before? How long had he been there, and how much longer was he planning to stay? There was no way Louis could fall back to sleep now that his mind was whirring with so many questions.

But before he could dive further into the web of these frivolous inquiries, remembrance began to flood his senses. All at once the events of last night erupted like a violent collision of fire and ice. He clutched a hand around his windpipe, squeezing his eyelids in dismay. He couldn't believe it–    
  


A chill of uncertainty surged through his spent body, tired muscles aching in unfamiliar places as he tried to piece together everything that had occurred. For some odd reason, none of it felt real. The feelings and thoughts he'd had last night all melted together, diffusing around him like thick fog. The string of memory itself was enough to induce Louis in irrational panic.

"I know you're awake," Harry said softly, his voice perforating the silence.

Louis startled at the sound, freezing as he was torn from his agonizing revelations, uncertain of how to respond. It was clearly too late to pretend he was still asleep, and he didn't want to go through the embarrassment of trying to convince Harry he was. But he didn't want to give in to the boy. Not again.

Harry already made him act stupid. And that was also the way Harry made him feel: challenged, sporadic, desperate, and painfully insecure despite the nearly two decades of life experience he held above him.

The room was uncomfortably quiet for a moment after that, only the soft whistle of the wind against the shutters.

"Er... yeah," Louis cleared his throat. He didn't move a muscle at first, content to shield his gaze, asphyxiate his fears by continuing to avoid some catastrophic confrontation of the previous night.

But eventually, he came to the latent realization that he would only be able to hide for so long. And he was a man after all, not a child fearing the consequences of his words and actions. He should be standing proud in defense of his feelings, regardless of the sickening pit growing just below his navel. He had to be strong and fearless. Or at least, pretend.

Louis sighed as he sat up against the headboard, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry linked his fingers around his leg, resting his lips against the top of his knee. Those eyes were dainty yet curious, and as always – thirsty for answers.

"Did you sleep any better last night?" Harry asked, his words bleeding into his skin. Louis blinked slowly, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

"I– well.... not really," He heard himself babble, wincing at the sound. Harry inhaled slowly, knocking his head back against the window, exuding the pure length of his throat. Louis swallowed. He could still taste his saccharine skin, hear his gentle needs, feel the warmth of his flesh, young blood rushing below the surface –

"Did... uh, did _you_ sleep well?" Louis wondered, trying to sound neutral, but only filling the silences with his own fanciful condemnation. He knew he was guilty, sick. He felt like every word he spoke to Harry was a sham, a pitiful attempt to smooth over his rabid tendencies and to make the over-obsessive, emotionally manipulative situation feel more like love.

Harry just looked at him, the beat of silence stretching on longer than Louis could comfortably tolerate. The boy smirked then, finding a sadistic sort of amusement in Louis's unrest. Typical.

"Harry," he sighed, shaking his head to himself. He turned to face the boy, digesting as much of his beauty as possible before mustering up the courage to venture into dark shadows.

"I– um, about last night," Louis started aimlessly, unsure how to finish, but perhaps too willing to try. Some guilt – or rather uncertainty, with the potential to become guilt – still hovered the forefront of his mind. Louis could not read Harry's response to what happened early this morning, which was enough to have him blurting something out on impudent impulse.

Harry's expression changed, but before Louis could even fairly conclude his statement,

"Harry, get down here and help me fix breakfast before Mr. Tomlinson wakes up!"

Harry smiled tiredly, as if to say ' _right on cue_ ,' before passing the look over to Louis and rising to his feet. Louis's chest tightened.

"Just tell her I'm already awake. I can fix my own breakfast, yeah?" Louis offered, desperate to keep Harry in his presence a little longer. He was already tossing the duvet off of his legs and swinging them over the side of the mattress.

Harry leisurely stretched his long arms to the ceiling, a few bones cracking. He hardly seemed in a rush to follow his mother's orders. He tossed the pen toward Louis's desk, in the process knocking over the cup and spilling pens and pencil across the glossy wood surface. He smiled sheepishly. Louis hardly noticed the mess.

"No, no. You need your rest," Harry tutted, wagging a finger at him as he wandered toward the door, other hand pushing up the material of his shirt to scratch at his belly.

"But Harry–," Louis began again, only to be interrupted by another one of Anne's boisterous commands.

" _Now_ , please! I want to get a head start on the day so Louis and I can go to the market. I need to do some grocery shopping as well, so come on, let's get moving," Anne said, already sounding somewhat exasperated. Harry shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"You heard the old hag," Harry kicked open the door and exited, his hair bouncing as he sauntered down the stairs.

And Louis flopped back onto his mattress, staring up at the speckled patterns on the ceiling once again.

He knew his window had closed for an afterthought. Harry really wasn't one to dwell on the past. He also wasn't keen on expressing his feelings – his true ones, not the whining or the pleading or the acting out for attention. Harry was way more complicated than that. And the beauty was in the mystery.

Besides, Louis was out of time.   
Harry was leaving.

\- ✿ -

The rest of the day was eerily uneventful. Louis went back to sleep for thirty minutes, rousing to the smell of coffee and buttered bread from the tray on his desk. He ate alone, shaved and showered quickly in hopes to alleviate the feelings of guilt that still clouded his mentality. He worked on his curriculum for about twenty minutes before he was inevitably distracted by Harry, (as always–) the lad flopping onto his bed on his belly with a few comic books, folding over the pages in complete airiness – utter, inconceivable disregard for the events of last night. And he never spoke, never meandered into Louis's room to bother him in his boredom, sit on his lap and ask for a serenade of french poetry.

It almost made him angry how little, borderline, nonexistent of a reaction the boy had given. Louis had built the scenario up in his mind for hours on end in anticipation for a life changing experience when their skin finally touched. But perhaps, in Harry's mind, Louis's little handjob simply wasn't all that great. And the older man knew he could do better, make Harry feel unfathomable pleasures if given the proper bloody circumstances, for instance: a bigger bed, time, seclusion, lubricant —

After a while, Louis found a way to dismiss those thoughts, push them so deep in his subconscious, they might as well have fallen out the back of his head. That was the goal, anyway.

And it worked for the several hours of he spent with Anne at the farmer's market, listening to her drone on about plants and roots and irrigation techniques. He held the basket at the grocery store, following her navigation down the canned food aisle, reading off the list of ingredients she would need to make pecan pie.

He tried not to grow physically ill whenever Anne laughed too hard at his jokes and traced her soft hand across the nape of his neck. He tried to ignore her overzealous flirtations, the pungency of her floral perfume, the obnoxious burn in her ivy eyes.

Luckily, Anne didn't bring up any thing about the previous evening - where the two of them had shared a rather forced and uncomfortable lock of the lips - because in all honesty, Louis couldn't bear to think on it. The quickest method to moving past something was to forget it ever happened. He indeed would make plans to surgically remove a portion of his temporal lobe if it promised he could forever rid himself of the memory of Anne's lips.

"Would you get my keys out of my back pocket?" Anne smiled innocently, as if she didn't know exactly what she was trying to do. Louis grimaced internally, because in no way would he convey just how repulsed her affections made him. Anne would probably be severely offended if she knew the whole truth, but until he moved out in the fall, Louis saw no use in burning her bridge.

So he clenched his teeth, and with one arm looped around a brown paper bag of groceries, he slipped his free hand into Anne's back pocket, hooking his index finger into the key chain and pulling them out. Anne thanked him, her eyes sparkling with that same desperation, the same needless heat that Louis knew he himself would never fully comprehend, let alone reciprocate.

The ride home was all but silent. Well, Louis was all but silent on the ride home. He offered to drive, being the gentleman he was, and she was content to blabber on and on about whatever her little lonely, widowed, middle-aged heart desired.

"I think a lot about those years, you know? Before Harry was born. We used to have a lot of fun, even though we didn't have much. I was lucky finding a man as successful as Des," Anne hummed as she stepped out of the car. She collected her purse, her yellow sun hat and a bag of groceries from the backseat. Louis then gathered up the remaining groceries, locking the car before following the still rambling woman up the brick path to the front door.

"But... maybe when Harry's gone, we'll be able to have some fun together," Anne suggested, her eyes hopeful, anxiously chewing the inside of her cheek. Louis really wished he could un-hear those words. Because he didn't know what to do with them. Avoidance was easy, but it would only last for so long. Soon he'd have to face this.

He focused intently on sliding the key into the lock, turning the knob and pushing the door open with his foot. He walked in slowly, careful not to lose any of the groceries piled precariously at the top.

Before he could take off his shoes and navigate toward the kitchen, Anne stole his attention with a loud, heart startling sound.

"Harry! Get your filthy sneakers off of my mahogany coffee table!"

Louis placed a hand over his heart, twisting his neck to find the boy with his feet kicked up on the table, fingers curled around a glass of strawberry milk, and his lips pursed around the end of a red and white striped straw.

"Why?" Harry swallowed, placing his beverage back on the table, an ugly pale ring of discoloration swelling under the glass.

"Because you did not pay for that table," Anne started, making a quick survey of the man beside her before evening her tone. "And because I am your mother and you do as I say,"

Louis glanced between the two, his pulse thundering in his chest.

"But my legs hurt, Mommy," Harry pouted, shifting in his seat and crossing his left ankle over his right. He folded his arms across his chest, eyes returning to the grey cartoons on the television screen. Without another word, Anne walked into the sitting room, placing her belongings on the coffee table. She ignored the crumpled parcel of potato chips and that hideous stain, instead, moving right in front of Harry's view of the television, but before he could part his lips to complain – she switched it off.

"What the hell?" the boy exclaimed.

"Go to your room," Anne said sternly, pushing his feet off of her table.

"Why?" Harry challenged, straightening his neck.

"Get out your suitcase and pack up all your clothes," The woman continued, ignoring him. Louis had never seen her in such a state. It felt like five minutes ago she was happily reminiscing her life in the older days, and now she was gritting her teeth, fingers balling into fists by her sides. Louis swallowed.

Several emotions drifted over Harry's features then, from the surprise and initial fear to the more rational understanding, that maybe she was joking, or trying to scare him. Once he came to that conclusion, his eyelids tightened, lips parting in disgust of yet another one of her attempts to control him.

"Yeah right. You think you scare me?" Harry forced a laugh.

"I don't care if I scare you or not. You don't respect me, and that's the reason I'm sending you away. So go upstairs and get your things together. I'm not going to ask you again," Anne spoke with finality, staring straight down at her degenerate son. The air was tense in the quiet. Louis held his breath.

"Sending me away ... where?" Harry wondered, because some part of him did want to know what his punishment would be, with the other frightened by his mother's sudden change in tactic. Perhaps he had finally pushed her too far.

"It's a nice camp, not too far away. You'll spend the rest of your summer there and in that time, hopefully figure out what kind of man you want to be. I'm your mother and I do a lot for you... but you're too old not to be accountable, and I will no longer tolerate it– this disgusting behavior - the disrespect, the backtalk, the blatant disobedience– I've had enough, Harry Edward. And it's got to stop,"

"Oh yeah? Well I'm not going," Harry spat, his eyes radiating with hurt.

"Yes you are. I'm dropping you off first thing tomorrow, whether you like it or not," Anne shot back.

"What– what about my friends, mom? What about Niall?" Harry stood up, raising his tone.

"Maybe you ought to have thought more about the potential consequences of your actions. And who knows? Time away from those neighborhood boys could be good for you. Because I certainly didn't teach you to speak to your elders this way,"

Harry's face was flushed, his eyes shaking and his blood boiling under her condescending tone. Louis could only imagine how the lad felt, how agonizing it must have been to hear these words, and to know that he'd run out of chances. Anne took a deep inhale, running a thoughtful hand over her chin.

"But it isn't up for discussion, we've already decided; Louis agrees with me," Anne declared, proudly. And Louis could feel his heart breaking when Harry then looked to his left, eyes falling on the shadow of him in the corridor, still foolishly clutching a bag of groceries to his chest.

"Fuck you," Harry growled, his eyes alight with something dark and truly frightening. Louis felt his stomach drop, but he didn't have time to fathom the meaning of the boy's anger, because Anne quickly slapped him across his face, sending his head to the right. The echo of the sound was more chilling than the visual, of Harry grasping his face, closing his eyes against the sharp twinge of pain.

When he finally looked up, Harry looked more angry and more dismayed than Louis had ever seen him– with his fingers clutching the hot skin of his cheek, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Louis couldn't stomach the sight , knowing the boy's feelings would always be belittled in a house of adults. He wished there was something he could do to take that pain away, to make Harry see things as they truly were.

Anne breathed hard, her eyes cold and unforgiving. In this emotionally rabid state, she was in no way willing to teach the boy such things. But then again, Louis never really expected her to. Because Anne was so focused on herself, about how awful Harry's actions made her feel, about what it meant when others met him, and in turn drew the connection of his behavior to her bad parenting. Maybe somehow, somewhere deep down this was truly about punishing him, but Louis wasn't easily moved by her convictions.

Harry released a shaky exhale, a sole tear spilling down his cheek as he took a confident step closer, glaring into his mother's eyes.

"I hate you," He said to her, baring his teeth. He shoved past her to exit the sitting room, jeering ' _traitor_ ' at Louis as he passed him to get to the stairs.

And then Harry disappeared into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

« _he was bound to love you_  
 _when he heard you sing_ »

— Andrew Lloyd Webber

\- ✿ -

The house still trembled with discord long after the screaming subsided. Louis offered to put the groceries away so that Anne could have a cigarette on the back porch, desperate to calm her frazzled nerves. The woman was at her wits end with her boy. Even though her loving intentions were fairly evident, the struggle to properly communicate her frustrations was the heart of every conflict she had with him. She was angry, exhausted, simply unwilling to try to reach him anymore. None of that excused Harry's behavior by any means, though Louis was obviously quite biased on the matter.

Louis shelved the last can of condensed milk in the kitchen cabinet, balled up the paper grocery bags and disposed of them. He dusted off his hands and walked toward the back door, peering through the glass at Anne, sitting on the swing with her head in her hand.

He felt partially responsible for the woman, as if it were his job to appease her sadness. Or maybe after a month, Louis saw his _friend_ , Anne, as a lonely, fragile and feeble soul; he knew he had the power to charm and distract her from her troubles, to make her forget even just for a little while.

But Louis could hear him. His soft sobs were easily dismissible to his mother, and could be ignored from the bottom level of the home. He could pretend he hadn't caused some of Harry's pain, move on to Anne and take her side in this cruel game. But Louis wanted to go see him, as he always wanted to see him, to breathe in his scent, to feel the burn of his youth, and hear his agony up close. He paused, biting his thumbnail. At the end of all things, Harry was his love, his life, the sole circuit for which he drew his existence. If any grieving heart deserved his attention, it was the heart he ached for the most.

Louis found himself trudging up the stairs one by one, rubbing his anxious hands. He ascended to the second floor, stopping in the corridor when another thought burdened his heart.

' _Fuck you_ ,' the boy had growled shortly after his argument with Anne, his eyes exploding with the light of a million sickening stars. While his passion was breathtaking, Louis couldn't help feeling a small shred of guilt for his rage.

What Anne said hadn't even been _true_ ; from the moment the woman shared her theories and schemes of sending Harry away for behavioral conversion therapy, Louis had deterred her as much as his position allowed. But he could not sacrifice his own identity for Harry. There were certain precautions he simply had to take to ensure his reputation, his job, and his life.

He didn't want Harry to think he had gone behind his back and helped Anne with the planning of this. The _last_ thing Louis wanted was for their connection to be severed before it truly began.

Louis took a deep breath as he came to face Harry's bedroom door, gingerly placing his hand on the cool, golden knob. He swallowed thickly as he opened the door, Harry's wails growing louder and louder as Louis entered. Every cry yanked another thread of guilt from his chest, deepened the pit in his stomach.

 _'Traitor'_ , echoed like a mantra in Louis's mind. He solicitously moved into the boy's room, eyes unable to focus on anything other than Harry, crumpled into a fetal position in the center of his mattress. He held his pillow against his chest, burying his reddened face into the soft cotton pillowcase.

And who could blame him, really? It had to be tough for Harry - an only child, misunderstood, destined to thrive under the overzealous rulings of his overprotective single mother. He didn't have anyone to side with him in the arguments, no one to vouch for his character. For Louis it was painful, having no choice but to watch the child fight and fight with no probability of success.

Carefully, Louis sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, the mattress descending beneath his weight. At first he wasn't sure _if_ he should touch Harry, then– _how_ he should touch Harry, and communicate his emotional support. He didn't want to disturb the boy if he really wanted to be alone, and Louis made a silent vow to respect those wishes if requested. He rested a tentative hand on Harry's bicep, tenderly running his thumb against his overheated flesh.

"Harry?" Louis sighed, feeling even sicker to his stomach at the sight of his tears, thick streams jetting from his eyes like late summer rain. The boy tensed under his touch, curling into a tighter ball. Louis removed his hand, sensing Harry's unease. He thought for a moment, because he still wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

What would comfort Harry at a time like this? How could he make the boy feel less devastated? Should he try to make him smile? Should he leave him the fuck alone? Harry was an unfairly complex enigma, a no doubt simple explanation Louis could never hope to comprehend. But despite all that, he was just a kid. How hard could it be to cheer him up?

"Shh. Harry, Love," Louis tried again, his voice trembling with uncertainty. He moved closer to the boy; he curled his fingers around Harry's arm, soothing his other hand over the jut of his shoulder blades as he hushed him.

"Harry... Je t'aime. Je t'aime comme mon âme," Louis whispered, rubbing his back. It took a few moments, but eventually Harry's cries began to simmer down. Louis felt pride well in his chest; the boy wanted to hear him speak.

"Mon amour," he took a shuddering breath.

"Je ne peux pas supporter de sentir votre douleur... de voir votre douleur. S'il te plaît, revenez me voir," Louis listened intently to Harry's sorrow, feeling less ailed as he quieted. The older man bit his lip fondly, tracing his thumb behind Harry's ear, touching his neck.

The boy stopped crying soon thereafter, his sobs reduced to soft, wet breaths and cute snuffles against his pillowcase. Louis let his fingers run down Harry's arm, looping them around the boy's wrist. He then nudged Harry to turn over and face him.

"Aime-moi...," Louis muttered, his words a faint whisper in a void universe. He knew it didn't matter if Harry heard or not, and that hiding his feelings behind the language barrier would only soothe his ache so long. The boy was going away _tomorrow_ and Louis knew at the end of summer he himself would venture beyond Ramsdale. Harry Edward Styles would probably never see him again after this evening. Perhaps in the end, that would've been for the best.

"You're sending me away–," Harry started as he sat up, his eyes still cold with feelings of betrayal.

"No, no," Louis adamantly denied, brushing damp, tear stained curls away from Harry's temples. Harry made a noise of protest in his chest, his brow creasing in scrutiny.

"I tried to change her mind, Harry. I did all I could," Louis lied gently, unable to align their gazes as he did. The thought of Harry going away and hating him, made him ache. He _had_ to make sure they were alright, above anything and everything else. What mattered most was what Harry thought of him.

"But she's so ... bloody stubborn. She thinks she can 'fix you' or whatever by shipping you off to some camp to let perfect strangers look after you," Louis shook his head, moving the pad of his thumb back and forth against Harry's flesh. The boy peered up, still looking unsure.

Louis wished for once he could just be honest with Harry, divulge his true convictions of the boy's crazy, cow of a mother, her loud-mouthed opinions, obstinate social views and her stunning inclination to strangle every beautiful abstraction within a mere mile of her sonorous voice. But there was no telling how the boy would react to hearing Louis's thoughts, and the last thing he needed was to further offend him.

"They can't _fix_ me," Harry grumbled, wiping at his tearful eyes.

Louis nodded in affirmation. He strongly believed that whatever it was Anne saw in the camp wasn't enough to reverse the affects of her abhorrent parenting, and in regard to Harry's supposedly _slanted_ sexuality - Louis wasn't a psychiatrist, but even he could see it was too late to reverse the diagnosis.

"Because there's nothing _to_ fix, Harry," he assured, offering a small, supportive smile. Harry looked at him for a long moment, pondering his words.

"You're beautiful and perfect, just the way you are, mon amour," he dusted his lips against the back of Harry's hand, closing his eyes against the feel of his smooth skin, the bump and dip of his knuckles, like hills and valleys. Harry swallowed, looking at him.

"Do you need anything?" Louis gave his hand a final squeeze before standing, afraid to outstay his welcome.

The boy tucked himself back against his pillow, shaking his head.

"Alright," Louis gave a gentle wave as he backed out of Harry's room, savoring the vision of his pale beauty as he tugged the door shut.

As he stood in the middle of the hallway, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Suddenly that realization hit him, it's caustic weight settling into his bone marrow:

Harry was leaving _— tomorrow_.

How was Louis supposed to get over him? How would he just carry on with his studies, ignoring the painful palpations behind his sternum every time he glanced toward the boy's empty room? How would he manage to survive without Harry's sultry silhouette crawling along the moonlit walls, the child's cherubic features dancing with emotion, the loudness of his laugh balancing the fierceness of his cries.

Louis didn't even get to teach Harry anything, he never got to show him the artistry of the world, the joys of literature and language, or the conflicts of love and lust. He never got to kiss Harry, to cradle his jaw and draw him close and crash their lips together. He never once felt the boy on his skin, his body rippling with need, sweat slick and dripping desire. Louis felt as though he was being cheated, left a fleeting drop of water in a vast, burning desert.

But maybe this was a lesson he needed to learn. Maybe this emptiness in his chest, the burn in his lungs, as he ambled away from Harry's room, was the cruel, tormenting end the foulness of his sins had earned.

Retribution was cold.

\- ✿ -

The following morning was gloomy and grey. The sky was a stuffy, billowing sheet of bloated clouds, the air suffocatingly sweltered with the battles of rage and humidity. Louis wished it would just rain already. The mood was fitting. Harry was leaving today.

After breakfast Louis settled into his work as always, desperate for a distraction from the fact that he was falling apart. However, today he couldn't focus on anything but that. Every part of him sank with feelings of dread, anger, and utter hopelessness. He reread a few of his first journal entries, which only further submerged him in crippling depression.

He couldn't believe all of his pain, his guilt and shame and suffering was shed over a charming, young, unattainable fourteen year old boy. It was humiliating. Louis had fallen into this pit _completely_ of his own volition. He must have known this was a fruitless endeavor, that his feelings would mean nothing, and lead to nothing. He just couldn't believe their story was ending like this, an unfinished, unfulfilling, petrified work of art.

"I'm _not_ going and you can't _make_ me!" Harry barked at his mother as she stormed into his bedroom, tugging his suitcase down from his closet shelf and plopping it onto his unmade bed. Louis sank his teeth into his knuckles.

"As a matter of fact, I can! I'll drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to," Anne countered. Louis shuddered at the sound of her words, how cold and unloving she was toward him, even on his last day.

Harry continued to argue with her, presenting more and more reasons why his summer would be completely ruined and how unfair it was for her to dictate his life, but Anne wasn't acknowledging any of it. She moved freely through his room and bathroom, pulling out shirts and trousers from his dresser and collecting his toiletries from the bathroom. She tucked each item into his bag neatly, while Harry screamed at her, desperate to capture her attention. But alas, it was too late. Her mind had been made.

Anne soon finished, zipped up his suitcase, "I packed you a separate set of shoes. Make sure you wear your sneakers when we leave,"

Harry just stared at her from where he sat on his bed, his arms crossed over his chest, lower lip trembling with anger. 

"I hate you. You're the worst mother in the whole world," Harry said then, a last effort to display his feelings, regardless of whether or not he actually believed the statement.

Anne just smiled, lifting Harry's suitcase from the mattress.

"I'm going to take this to the car, then I'll come back in to shower. You need to be dressed and ready to leave in twenty minutes. If you don't get ready or pack something to eat, I'm taking you as you are and we're not stopping,"

She left then, lugging the boy's suitcase down the stairs and out the front door. Louis listened as Harry muttered under his breath for a few moments before silencing completely, irritated, but perhaps finally succumbing to defeat.

Harry showered, got dressed, brushed his hair, and painted his nails one final time. He walked around his room sadly, a million burdens on his chest as he made his bed for the first time Louis had ever seen him, positioning his small, chestnut teddy bear against his pillow. He collected his black converse sneakers, still lying in the corner of the room from when he angrily kicked them off last night. He sat on the end of the mattress, lacing each one.

And Louis watched him, oh how he watched him –

He felt like today was a dream, a hazy, lucid dream he could not escape.

"Harry, it's time to go. Are you ready?" Anne knocked on his door, not long after.

"Yeah," He muttered, grabbing his hairbrush, magazine and nail polish and tucking them into his blue jean backpack, zipping it up and slipping the straps on over his shoulders.

"Well come on, then. We check you in at noon, we don't want to be late," Anne called as she made her way down the steps and into the foyer. Harry shut his bedroom door behind him, and then he was gone. Just as easily floating out of his life as he had in.

And it wasn't that Louis expected Harry to at least come in and say goodbye. For all he knew, Harry still hated him for what he did. Or didn't do. It was what he deserved, to be cast aside like a used toy. He tried to make himself okay with that; it was all he had.

But even still he couldn't stop himself from pushing up from his desk, rushing over to the window to catch one final glimpse of Harry. He watched the boy load his bag into the car, moving to get in the passenger seat. By a stroke of luck - or misfortune - something caught Harry's eye and he craned his head back to the house.

He could almost feel his heart leaping up into his throat when Harry paused, squinting in the direction of his bedroom window before shutting the passenger door of the vehicle and bolting back across the front yard. The older man took a sharp inhale, stepping back from the window.

Harry pushed open the front door, his tennis shoes clambering up the steps. Louis knew nothing could prepare him for what was about to happen. He stood awkwardly in his room for a second before he shouldered past the door and stepped into the hall, patiently foreboding his bittersweet goodbye.

When Harry got to the top of the stairs, he stopped. An endless array of words, french and english and every language in between could never be enough to recapture the dissonance between them as Harry's eyes fell on Louis at the end of the corridor. He inhaled, arms slowly raising as the boy sprang toward him, his earthy irises deepened with dark emotion. He dove into Louis's arms without a second thought, burrowing his face in the man's neck. Louis slipped his arms around Harry's waist, nudging his nose into his damp, flower scented curls. His body was so warm, and his pulse was real. Louis knew this couldn't be a dream. He gently rubbed the boy's back, clenching his eyelids to savor the moment for however long it was worth.

Louis could feel his body stumbling back as he lost his footing, his hand settling on the boy's waist to keep him steady. Harry pulled his torso away just a fraction, sliding his palms up Louis's chest, and resting them against his collarbones.

Louis frowned gently, but before he could part his lips, the boy was cupping throat with both hands, standing on his toes and pushing their mouths together in a soft, wet kiss. Louis drew Harry's body even closer, let himself melt in Harry's tender lips, fingers sliding through the roots at the back of his head. He felt like he was being smothered in everything that was Harry, this magnificent sensation pairing with his agony, exploding along his nerve endings and flooding his bloodstream. He couldn't contain it.

It was over far too quickly. Harry first pulled away, his warm, minty breath lingering on Louis's upper lip. The heels of his sneakers rested back on the carpet. Louis looked down, catching his breath.

"I suppose this is goodbye, then," Louis heard himself say. He was sure he could hardly remember his first name, let alone string together a line of coherent thought.

"Can't wait to tell everyone at camp about my hot older boyfriend," Harry grinned, tonguing over his retainer. Louis's stomach fluttered with pride.

"Don't joke about that," He shook his head. Harry grinned innocently, a laugh bubbling up the back of his throat. It was beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful.

"Seriously, you be careful," Louis curled his fingers around Harry's elbow, tugging him against his chest once more. He couldn't live if anything were to happen to Harry.

"Relax, old man. I've got it all under control," Harry smirked, though he had to be shattering inside. His eyes were still slightly puffy from crying all night. Louis knew he didn't want to leave his home, his neighborhood and all his friends for some lame camp in the middle of nowhere. He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do.

"I sure hope so. You'll be good for me, won't you?" Louis asked the boy, cupping the back of his head and drawing Harry's cheek to his chest. He passed his other hand through the lad's beautiful chocolate curls, touching one smooth, defined ringlet with his index finger. He brushed his lips against Harry's forehead, tucking the piece behind his ear.

"Of course I'll be your good boy," Harry murmured, blushing as he stepped away. Louis smiled sadly.

Harry dragged his swollen pupils over Louis's pensive features, as if he were trying to memorize his face, as if he wanted to see him in his dreams, or at least some portion of his reality. Louis swallowed hard, his chest swelling at the thought of what they could have been–

This was cruel, even for God. Louis needed to have Harry, to hold Harry, to bathe him in sin and write sonnets about how beautiful his come looked, staining his porcelain skin. He needed a chance with him. He needed _something_ with the boy, something much _more_ than the fleeting flirtations and midnight mayhems. He wanted to travel the modern world with Harry, create some incredible dimension with him at his side, teach him, reach him, learn the ways of his mind's twisted labyrinths, forwards and backwards, upwards and down. He wanted to fall into Harry each night like a toxic sleep. He wanted to surrender every portion of himself to the child, lose his conscience, abandon his pride, forget his name and everything he spent his life working for. He wanted to die with this pulse-thundering, muscle-tensing, stomach-dropping feeling branded on his spirit, with Harry's sweet energy asphyxiating him and the boy's cursed name ghosting across his bottom lip. He knew the stars had never aligned for them, but that wouldn't stop him from mourning their catastrophic fault.

" _Harry_!" Anne called from her distance outside the house. He could faintly hear her yapping about them ' _being late_ ', and ' _what did I tell you about making me wait in the car_ — '.

Louis sighed, closing his eyes. The older man felt the boy's arm slip through his hold, his wrist, and finally his hand. Then Harry had broken away, their skin forever losing touch as if they had never collided.

Louis wondered if that was the way their lives would elapse as well — one day Harry entangled him like vines of a canopy, like sweet, seductive weeds winding around the stalk of a healthy sprout— and the next, his crushing clutches vanished, leaving all but a hazy memory, a seedless disillusion lost between the cracks of time and space.

" _Mon amour_ ," Louis murmured under his breath as Harry backed away, eyes still holding his gaze before Anne called again and he turned, waving and jogging back down the stairs. Louis's smile dissipated as Harry lugged the heavy front door shut behind him.

He quickly ran to his bedroom window, fists balling against the wooden pane as he drank in one truly final glimpse of his deadly demon.

"I'm _coming_ , I'm coming, _Jesus_ lady!" Harry ran to his mother's car, the lush green blades grass swallowing his ankles as he sauntered over to the passenger side. He stepped down the curb and climbed in, shut the door and dragged his seatbelt on over his chest.

Louis exhaled as Anne started the car, the purr of the engine disrupting the placid neighborhood as she pulled away house, veering onto the road.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

The love of his life, the bane of his existence, his sin, and his shame —

 _Harry_ , torn right from his fingertips.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

« _i need you baby_  
_to warm the lonely nights_ »

— Frankie Vallie

\- ✿ -

Anne was gone for a few hours. After Louis had written six poems, paced around the room three times and fallen face first into Harry's duvet to wallow in the remnants of his sweet, flowery scent Louis found himself wandering downstairs and into the kitchen, searching for the red wine he put away from Anne's shopping venture yesterday.

He squinted in the orange glow of the setting sun, rubbing the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes. He could already feel another headache pulsating between his temples. He went to the refrigerator, retrieved the chilled bottle of pinot noir and poured himself a healthy dose. Maybe if he drank a bit he would get drowsy and fall asleep; then he wouldn't have to suffer the crippling replay of Harry being ripped out of his life. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this emotionally wrought.

He paced along the edge of the kitchen for a moment, taking hesitant sips of his beverage. He was still confounded by the events of this morning, his chest still burning in disbelief that Harry had _kissed_ him and now he was _gone_ \- he almost missed the thin rectangular envelope resting in the napkin holder on the kitchen table. He frowned.

He didn't remember that being there this morning.

Overcome with curiosity and frankly, quite desperate for a distraction from his never ending inner turmoil, he paced across the kitchen, the tile floor creaking beneath his feet. He placed his glass down on the wooden surface and retrieved the letter. There was something written on the front, but he couldn't quite make it out so he reached up to the collar of his shirt, disentangled his spectacles from the material and slipped them onto the bridge of his nose.

' _My Dearest Mr. Louis Tomlinson_ ' the envelope read. Louis chewed the inside of his lip as he tried to decipher what kind of a thing would be addressed with such sickening formality. It took him a moment and once he came to his epiphany, he was greatly disappointed in himself for even having to consider.

He took a deep, painful breath, wondering if he should even bother. He knew there was little (if anything at all) to be gained from reading this letter and drinking in any portion of his landlady's deluded adulation. Maybe he could leave the note here, pretend he hadn't seen it, meander back on up to his room and spend the rest of his time here dreaming of what could have been. Maybe he could continue to ignore Anne, elude her raunchy advances until the day came to move out. That would have been much more honorable, much more feasible and certainly more respectable than what actually ended up happening.

Alas, Louis decided to open the letter. He tore up the lip of the envelope, slid his finger along the opening, pinched the folded paper and removed it from its shell. The envelope fluttered to the table as he carefully unraveled the tri-folded paper. His eyes easily scanned a mess of jumbled cursive scrawl, simplistic wording and overall weak metaphorical description - the writer in him winced as it digested all of this at once.

' _My Dearest Louis,_

 _I am losing my mind. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, and I cannot work. Since you came into our little lives, for the first time in a long time I've actually been able to see myself. I have purpose, I have meaning, and I can do great things for myself and my boy. I'm a free bird and I've finally taken flight from the pain my late husband_ _abandoned_ _me in._

_You speak to me with respect no man ever has and you have opened my eyes to a vast new world of language and art. You keep me young, Louis. While it may be childish of me, to confess my true agony through a love letter I simply could not endure the look on your face as you read these words. I couldn't even stomach the thought of your rejection._

_So I ask that you spare my fragile heart it's bitter recollection and bid me ado this dusk._ _Pack your things as soon as you put down this letter._ _If I shall return this night to your loving presence, it could only mean that you, My Dear, have taken my heart into your capable hands and agree to bind our souls in holy matrimony. Let this be the confession of my deepest passion, but feel no remorse for your true feelings. I only ask that you be true to me._

_Should you abandon me tonight, I will think no less of you. For wherever your spirit may beckon, know that I am and always will be utterly, completely and whole heartedly in love with you._

_– Anne X.O_. '

Once he read these twisted sentiments through and through, several confused arguments encircled Louis's mind. What in heaven's name was he supposed to say in response to this? How was he supposed to react? Was Anne finally doing it, giving him his own ultimatum, as she had with Harry? It was much more insistent and certainly more demanding, this: _love me_ or _leave._

Louis dropped the letter onto the table, lifting the wine to his lips once more. He couldn't believe it.

Those words, 'my heart', 'my love', 'souls' and 'holy _matrimony_ ' - sent a shiver of disturbance through him. He had a feeling they would find him when he was in the depths of his chronic guilt and shame, when he wanted to knock his pride down another few notches. Anne wanted him to marry her, and it was simply too _cruel_ to be true.

It was every lying man's disillusion, to find a pretty young lass to settle down with, a cheek to kiss in the afternoons and a form to sleep beside at night, but most of all to maintain the guise of heterosexuality. Louis knew many of his former colleagues from his college back home who lived in this manner, for themselves crafted an intricate reality for the jaded days while the ruthless animals in them prowled the dark shadows at night. Perhaps there were wholesome gains from having a bond with a woman.

He ran his palm over the tired wrinkles of his forehead as he thought about it more deeply.

If he were to stay here and ... _marry_ Anne, wouldn't that make Harry his – _son_?

If he married Anne, he would become Harry's stepfather. He would come home to Harry's mother after work in the evenings and sleep beside her, while he lusted after his _son_. He simply could not do that. Could he? No. He could not reel Anne into such a dark, twisted ploy to get to her – _their_ child.

But then again, if Harry were to become _his_ stepson, he would have an infinite connection to the boy through his bond with Harry's mother. Even if something catastrophic were to happen, he would have successfully linked himself into the boy's life and effectively entwined their destinies. If he took Anne up on this putrid offer he could potentially see Harry again, and maybe, just maybe – have another chance.

Louis swallowed hard, dropping his head. His chest felt tight.

Was he actually considering this? Was he really so desperate for the boy that he would sign his life away to a crazy woman and wholly dedicate himself to this house of horrors? Was he willing to destroy a mother for the sake of touching her child?

Louis sighed, downing the rest of his wine. He was sure he could hear God laughing.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Paradine Case (1947) by Alfred Hitchcock is the movie they're watching in this chapter.

« _last night i dreamt_  
_that somebody loved me_  
_no hope no harm_  
_just another false alarm_ »

— The Smiths

\- ✿ -

So he married her. On August 2nd, 1947, they went down to the courthouse and filed the legal paperwork. Ms. Anne Cox had overnight become Mrs. Anne Tomlinson and couldn't be more pleased with herself. Louis was still trying to wrap his mind around it all. In his state he  never imagined he could be married and take up permanent residence with a woman. Anne was certainly delighted with the affair, humming, trembling with laughter and dancing around the kitchen like an overexcited child, the diamond on her left finger iridescent in the morning sun.

Of course Louis was delighted as well, but for very different reasons. He wrote in his journal nearly every day outlining his new struggles as Anne's househusband. The woman was very needy and much less sweet now that they'd tied the knot. She was the modern Eve with her bright red lipsticks, soft pearl earrings and confident gestures. She was all woman and took everything her heart desired.

She denied Louis any privacy in the house unless he was working in the study. Even then sometimes she followed him there like a codependent kitten to it's nursing mother. This presented a problem. As an artist and literary visionary, he needed his space to work. Louis wrote about Harry and how much he missed him in his journal. He wrote love letters to the boy and locked them up tight in his bedside table each night before bed. He kept the key looped around his neck at all times. He would not risk Anne's fragile fantasy.

Over the course of the month, she proved to be even more sexually starved than Louis thought. In comparison to her son, she was incredibly out of practice. While Harry would run the pads of his fingers up the arm and stroke his tender gaze down every facet of one's disposition, Anne stripped down to her undergarment and followed Louis into the bath, her soft skin slipping against his beneath the foamy bubbles. She climbed on his lap while he was sleeping and rubbed her body against his, hoping to rouse him with arousal. Her childish eyes were far too ambitious in their hope to seduce Louis.

Oftentimes Louis felt suffocated by her advances. She made a joke about cunnilingus when he had been helping her stuff calzones one evening. At dinner she ran her toes up his calf under the table, holding his gaze as she adjusted her deep neck top. By divine grace, Louis often managed to escape her with a bottle of white wine and two sleeping pills. Perhaps it was his inadmissible attraction to the male anatomy that turned him off with such fervor. Perhaps it was his appreciation for subtlety, or the fact that his heart belonged to another member of their household. Louis would sooner see Lucifer himself than sleep with the woman.

His only true escape was a weekly letter. Every Friday afternoon he met the mailman at the curb, collected his offerings and wasted no time rifling through bills and marriage congratulatory cards to find the object of his enthusiasm.

Their son, Harry, was rather busy at summer camp, but once every week he found the time to write back home. He told of many activities the counselors set up for them, including horse riding, archery and kayaking, relay racing and tree climbing. Surprisingly, his words expressed genuine interest and an overall enjoyment that polarized his sentiments of the day he left. Louis was ecstatic to hear from him, and much more appreciative of his updates than Anne, the mother turned ravenous newly wed.

'... _It is pretty fun I guess. There's lots to do. I'm never bored. There are a lot of nice guys here, as well. They're all from different places. There's this one lad I met. They call him Z. He's really cool. He works in the stables. Some nights we stay up past curfew and go swimming in the lake. We haven't been caught yet._

_Oh congratulations on the marriage. I knew she had a thing for you, but I didn't know you fancied her back. Anyway, I hope you guys are happy._

_I kind of miss being home. The food is okay. They're short of staff so they get the older boys to help out. Don't tell mom I miss her cooking._

_There's this competition where throughout the day some counselors check around the camp site to see which team has been keeping their quarters the tidiest. I know it's unbelievable, but I always have my shit together. The other lads - Dick and Jeff - don't even know how to make their cot, line their shoes up or section off their dirty clothes. We've lost two weeks in a row so far and it's all their fault. There's supposed be a reward at the end of the month for whichever team can get the best scores. I guess I'll never find out what it is._

_Things are really different here, though. It's not like school or at home. Some of the boys are really immature. Others are like me. People get into arguments and fights occasionally break out, but there's something really calm and understanding about everyone. I don't know. I'm just talking out of my ass at this point. Don't show this letter to mom._

_Whatever. I have to go now. We're going hiking this evening after dinner. Dick said last year they ran into a black bear. Don't tell mom I said that either. Okay well, I guess that's it. I'll try to call home this weekend. Keep missing me._

_— Harry x_. '

Louis brought the letter to his chest, dipping his head to savor the fresh, flowery scent that still clung to the card stock. He turned around and closed the front door behind him, bolting the lock. He made his way to the study, where his pencil sat waiting in the spine of his diary. He folded the letter as it was and slipped it back into its envelope. He then picked up his pencil and chose a fresh page to start his monologue.

\- ✿ -

" _I hope... no I don't hope they hang her. I don't like breaking pretty things. But I do hope they send her to prison for life_ ,"

"She probably killed him. I don't trust her eyes. She's had lots of lovers. And she's far too lovely to be true. Just listen to her accent," Anne mumbled against the side of her husband's neck, running the tip of her fingernail along her waxy bottom lip. Louis watched as Ms. Paradine was led into the courtroom, trying his best to tune out the woman's voice and focus on the events unfolding on the movie screen. It was a drive in and they paid twenty cents to see the film - it would be stupid to talk through the entire thing.

"That Gregory Peck is one tall glass of water," she bit her index nail, eyes glowing. Louis fought the urge to roll his eyes. Anne was lovely when she wanted to be, but tiresome when she didn't.

"I'm bored, Louis," she started to grow restless about an hour into the movie, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You're not having fun, My Dear?" He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was getting pretty late after all. They had gotten dinner before this at a nice, but inexpensive Italian restaurant. He had paid for their meals of course. Despite the nature of their union, he was trying to be a good partner. At the very least he wanted her to enjoy herself.

" _No_ ," she whined, sounding more petulant than her fourteen year old son. She curled her fingers around Louis's knee, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the inseam of his trousers. At first he tried to ignore it. A few moments passed and she continued, trailing her hand up further. Feeling uncomfortable, he tried to shift away. He stilled when Anne tightened her grip.

"Anne," he breathed, his heart thundering against his chest as she kissed the corner of his mouth, hand folding around the groin of his pants. "Darling, not here,"

"Come on, Baby. I just. I just thought we could-," she teased with a sultry smile. Anne cupped his face, pressing their mouths together. His whole body broke out in goosebumps as she undid the button of his trousers. He frowned, fighting the urge to shove her away.

"I said no," he blurted rather suddenly. Anne's eyes furrowed, her lips sitting in a pout.

Louis didn't want to be the bad guy. it was hard living with Anne, sleeping beside her every night. She had physical needs, and those needs Louis simply could not meet without feeling convoluted with guilt and shame. The thought alone made him realize what a terrible mistake he had made by accepting her proposal, a conscious, yet utterly terrible one.

"You never want to do anything mischievous," she accused. They weren't the only people trying to watch the movie but Louis was fairly certain they were the only ones talking through it. Louis sighed, rubbing a distressed hand through his hair.

"I'm not in the mood right now, Love. I was actually enjoying the film —,"

"The film is boring," she groaned, moving back into his space. Completely ignorant of his earlier request, Anne slid her hand into the front of his pants. He winced as her cold hand came in contact with his dick.

"My God, woman, what's gotten into you?" he chuckled, because he didn't know how else to respond. She tried to wrap her fingers around him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand out, his face burning in embarrassment. He zipped up and did the button on his trousers, looking around to make sure nobody heard the sound.

"What? You can't handle a little fun?" she folded her arms, though Louis was hardly moved by her challenge. He could certainly handle fun. He could handle letting a woman grope him in the middle of a public place, if that was her interpretation of fun. Fun indeed, just not for Louis.

"It's just, I have a headache. I've had one ever since we left the restaurant and I didn't want to ruin our evening, so I didn't tell you," he lied quickly, trying to keep his voice volume low. He was pretty sure that police man over in the corner was starting to grow suspicious of their whispering.

"Why didn't you?" she huffed, unfolding her arms and reaching into the glove compartment. "I have aspirin,"

"No, no I'm– I'm allergic to aspirin," he lied again, hating how easy it was to do. He used to lie to his mother when she asked him where he'd been all afternoon because he couldn't tell her he was fooling around in the locker room with Dominic after practice; it was only to spare her the truth she wouldn't understand.

"Anne," he sighed, closing his fingers around her wrist and tugging her hand into his lap. Her skin was soft and pale, of course, and she reeked of flowers and moonshine. But she wasn't the beauty he craved, nor the body he ached for.

"I don't want to do that in the car with all these people around. If you want me to touch you, I'm going to do it properly. When we get home," he reiterated, hoping she would understand. He didn't want her to feel rejected, because most times he found a way to evade her advances - but this was his duty. If he continued to brush her away she could eventually grow suspicious and start asking questions, which, Louis was not prepared to deal with.

Louis brushed his thumb over her knuckles, kissing the back of her hand. Anne blushed.

"Such a gentleman," she murmured, curling back up against his side. Louis held her hand as she fixed her eyes on the screen once more.

"I knew I made the right choice," 

\- ✿ -

They get home and Anne practically dragged him out of the car and into the house. She kissed him all over his face, no doubt littering his skin in lipstick prints. They stumbled into the doorway and Anne giggled against him because she was like a child and everything was always so brilliant and so wonderful even when it wasn't real.

Anne kicked off her heels and took out her hairpins, teeth biting her bottom lip in anticipation. Louis ran a hand over his face, stomach turning with nerves. Her expression was serene with confidence. Louis wondered if she could tell how scared he was. The rest of his life could be determined by his performance tonight.

Anne smoothed her delicate palms over his shoulders, then down his stomach. She lifted the hem of his shirt out of his trousers, kissing his jaw. Louis cupped the back of her head, threading his fingers through her silky hair. It was the same texture as Harry's, he thought.

He took a calming breath. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so bad after all. Harry and his mother shared many physical characteristics.

Anne's fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the material over his shoulders. Louis tried to imagine it was Harry touching him, undressing him, kissing him and whispering prayers into his skin.

"What's this?" Anne wondered, hooking her finger in the rope around his neck. Louis opened his eyes and looked down to her hand. He frowned, moving the key to the back of him.

Louis shook his head as he kissed her again, easily tearing her attention from the subject. He swallowed hard as Anne pulled at the button of his trousers, tugging down the zipper. She ran her hand over the front of his pants and he shuddered, forcing himself to stay still. This was Harry touching him. His beautiful, twisted paradox. He could do this. He had to. He knew if he couldn't somehow get it up, she would have him in the doctor's office first thing tomorrow complaining about how he was broken.

Anne kissed him and he kissed back. She tasted like cigarettes and red wine. It wasn't unpleasant, but he wished he were kissing another soft creature with long hair and blushing skin and dark, pillowy lips. Louis wrapped his hands around her waist and nudged her toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress.

They fell rather hard and Anne grinned with amusement, sliding her bare leg over his hip. Louis closed his lips against her pulse, wrapping one hand around the crook of her knee.

He curled his other hand around her, pulling at the back zipper of her dress until the fabric began to loosen around her frame. Anne quickly shouldered it off, her dark eyes following the gaze of her husband.

"So this is love," she hummed, soothing her fingers over his chest, across his shoulders. Louis closed his eyes tight like he was having a bad dream. She moved her hips against him and he let out a weak moan, more of a wounded cry than a sound of pleasure.

He knew he would never feel clean again.

\- ✿ -

About a minute after Louis became cognizant, he realized he was going to puke. He slipped a hand over his mouth and crawled out of bed as quietly as possible before he darted into the bathroom, flipped up the lid of the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach. A fresh wave of nausea hit him and he heaved, hand grappling the ledge of the sink for support. He tried to remember what he ate last night. Pasta? Pasta and Salad. Breadsticks as well. Italian. Restaurant. Date. Anne. He felt oddly achy.

And then it hit him.

 _Sex_.

Louis felt sick again. He could see her from where he knelt on the bathroom tile. She was still sleeping peacefully, the duvet pulled up around her torso, her lashes fluttering gracefully as she dreamed.

Louis wished he could run. He would run far far away and never come back to this house of horrors. He ran a hand over his groaning belly, then reached over to grab the lever.  
  


He collected a fresh set of clothes from the closet, tugged the bedroom door behind him before going to take a shower in Harry's bathroom. He had to be out of the house by the time the woman woke up. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about last night.

The morning sickness passed, but Louis went to see the doctor anyway. He wasn't really surprised when his doctor explained there was nothing wrong with him, aside from a little stress. Louis practically begged the man to prescribe him something, anything to calm him down, but doc said it wouldn't do him any good.

Exasperated and desperate for any sort of solution, Louis then decided that if he couldn't do anything to himself to help the situation, he could try to do something to Anne. He had dissolved sleeping pills into her drink before, and it worked, most of the time.

He explained to the doctor he was having trouble getting enough rest at night, and that his current prescription wasn't lasting him but a few hours. He added that the lack of sleep could also be attributed to the stress, to which the man listened but appeared hesitant and rather doubtful. After a moment of thought, he reached into his desk drawer, moving things around with clank and clutter before pulling out a brown glass bottle of larger tablets. Louis took them from his offered hand and glanced over the label, nodding to himself.

"Take one per night with a full glass of water about thirty minutes before you go to bed. Do not take them on an empty stomach," he explained, wagging his finger at Louis.

Louis thanked him graciously before standing and exiting his office.

\- ✿ -

Louis closed the front door gently behind him, peering down the foyer in search of his wife.

"Anne, Darling?" he called, placing the car keys on the table before walking into the living room. It was empty, the curtains fluttering in the gentle midday breeze. He moved into the kitchen.

Anne sat at the table with a cigarette, her hand flipping through the pages of a book. Louis at first thought it was strange - in the months he'd been here he'd never seen her read anything.

The kitchen was unusually bare. There weren't any pots or pans piled up in the sink. The scent of ash lightly emanated in the air.

"Anne," he called out to her, wondering why she hadn't answered him.  
"Have you eaten lunch? I can fix something, if you'd like?"

Anne finally looked at him, but it was not the look he'd been expecting. Her eyes were red rimmed behind a pair of reading spectacles, lips pressed tight enough to break her jaw. Her gaze was cold and stoic, no hint of emotion swimming in her eyes. Louis felt a shiver run up his spine.

He took a step closer, eyes furrowing from the distance as he tried to see what she was reading. He sucked in a deep breath as she threw the journal to the kitchen floor with a thud, the delicate pages fluttering on impact.

Everything stopped in that moment.

Louis's eyes widened as he realized what it was. His— his journal, the memoir of his time in this household, the collection of thoughts, memories, heated night fantasies, hazy afternoon daydreams and silent musings of Harry. His true feelings of Anne, his true motives for their marriage, his hopes of having her boy, his plans of stealing Harry from her, his desperation and deprivation and everything he'd fought so hard to protect for the last three months.

"The ' _Cox cow_ '," she started, sniffling. Louis winced.

"The - the ' _desperate widow_ ',  the ' _mouth breathing_ _cunt_ '? Really? 'I'm good in the kitchen but a nuisance in bed.' 'I talk too much, I eat too loudly, I snore, I breathe.' I'm a God-awful woman I suppose. Not one redeeming quality," Anne said, wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief.

 _Perhaps this wasn't the end. Perhaps she hadn't read the bits about Harry_ , he stupidly thought.

"Anne, Darling —,"

The woman rose quickly from her seat, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor. Louis stared, the soles of his feet frozen to his place.

"You're disgusting," Anne accused, her eyes aflame. She looked like she was going to be sick as she scanned him up and down, trying to fathom the weight of her mistake. This wasn't the smart, kind, and handsome gentleman she fell for. This wasn't her wonderful husband. This was a monster she had never met before.

"Anne, _please_ ," Louis started moving closer. He didn't know what he hoped to gain from saying the words. He wasn't sure if it were even possible to fix this, but he reached out for her arm anyway.

"Don't you _dare_ touch me, you _sick_ , Godless _pervert,_ you–," Anne growled, snatching out of his hold.

"You– you _pedophile_!" her eyes dilating with the epiphany. They darted left to right as she contemplated the meaning of the word. Tears dribbled down her ruddy cheeks, staining her round spectacles. She quickly wiped her face, stepping back from him in fear.

"I'm leaving tonight," She then decided. Louis looked at her, trying to gather what she knew. Did she know enough to ruin him? She clearly knew of his love for Harry, but was it enough to take to court?

These thoughts tormented him and he didn't even notice Anne's short heels clacking as she exited the kitchen and entered the parlor. The woman gathered a pen and a page of card stock from the table. Louis swallowed.

"I'm going to my mother's house," she continued, voice ringing in the quiet home, "And you won't stop me!"

" _Anne_ ," Louis whispered, devastation overcoming him. He shook his head. It had all come to pass so quickly, too quickly. He often wondered if this is how it would happen, with the suddenness of whiplash.

"And you'd better believe me when I say you will never, _ever_ see my son again!" she barked, jabbing her index finger in the air for emphasis.

Louis watched her turn back and sit down on the sofa, her wrist shaking as she scraped the ink pen across the page. He blinked several times, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to kindle some understanding of what was happening.

He cleared his throat gently, finally moving to collect his tattered journal from the kitchen floor. He stood once more, closing the cover and dusting reverent fingers over the leather binding.

"Anne, you've gotten yourself all worked up over nothing, I just– this is just... part of a short story I was writing. Entirely fiction," He heard himself lie again, because the only thing he ever learned to do, was lie; invent lovely stories and beautiful characters and fictional circumstances where things happened a certain way. It was how he coped with his bullshit childhood, how he dealt with reality. It was pathetic.

But what did the universe expect? As if he could admit to the truth, the idolatry, the scarlet dreams and his undated yearning for Harry, their boy— _her_ boy. Louis could feel the guilt swelling his chest like a tumor.

Anne stayed silent. She continued to scribble away at the letter she was writing, sniffling every few beats, wiping salty tears on the sleeve of her peach blouse.

He needed a drink. Maybe if he got her drunk enough, tomorrow she would forget everything that happened.  
Plan C: _Alcohol_.

Louis did not breathe as he treaded over to the refrigerator. He felt as if this oxygen was no longer his to breathe. He closed his fingers around the lever and tugged it open.

"I just, I used your names for... for convenience. It's easier to write a story with distinct faces. It helps me describe and- and _develop_ the characters more efficiently," Louis rambled, taking another shuddering inhale. This was obviously just a story he was writing. None of it was real. This was a dream and they would wake soon enough.

His fingers shook as he reached into the cupboard and collected two glasses, placing each on the counter in front of him. He dug out four ice cubes from the sheet, placing two in each glass before quickly popping the cork on the bottle of whiskey, likewise pouring each of them a serving.

"You should just ha-have a drink and calm down, alright? It's not what you think," Louis affirmed as he turned toward the sitting room, holding a glass in each hand. He frowned.

She was gone.

"Anne?" Louis called, his throat tightening. His voice echoed.

"Anne," He walked into the parlor. surveying the entire room. He set down the drinks and glanced around the corner into the foyer. The house was vacant.

Anne could not have left already. She hadn't packed and her car key was resting on the table where he'd left it. She'd said she was leaving tonight; Louis still had time to convince her he wasn't in lust with her son and that he didn't feel entirely indifferent toward her.

He was shaken from his thoughts when a piercing shrill disturbed the home. He floated out of the parlor and into the foyer, folding his fingers over the spine of the black telephone and lifting the speaker to his ear.

"Hello?" He squinted pensively as the voice came crackling through the speakers.

"Hello, Sir. Is this the Tomlinson residence?" A deep, gruff voice affirmed.

"Yes, um. Might I ask who is calling?"

"This is the Ramsdale Sheriff's Department just a few miles up the road. I'm afraid I just got a report that a Mrs. Anne Tomlinson has been hit and killed by a car on Bakerburry Road," Louis's frown deepened.

"I– you must be mistaken, Sir," He chuckled slightly. It was absurd.

"No mistake. I just got word that it happened –," Louis ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"I don't understand, I just – she was _just_ in the parlor, writing a letter –," Louis sorely explained, fingers growing clammy around the spine of the phone.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you the news, Fellow. I realize this must be...," Louis dropped the phone on the table, following his intense curiosity to the front door. He pulled it open and quickly stepped back out into the cool afternoon. The sun was warm and bright, his wrist coming up to shield his eyes. Red and blue lights flickered, a whirring siren reverberating in the distance.

He swallowed hard, gut twisting painfully at the sight of friendly neighbors huddled together on the curb at the front of their yard. He quickly shouldered through the murmuring crowd, stuttering apologies as he moved to the scene of the accident. The scent of iron was pungent; he cupped his hand over his mouth, shielding his astonishment.

His eyes burned, throat closing up as he caught a glimpse of it then: warm, red, bubbling— _blood_. His head was pounding. His heart was racing. Someone was speaking to him.

"Sir, is this your wife?" The policeman repeated, eyes dimmed with sympathy. Louis hesitantly looked on the woman's still, twisted form. Her gentle eyes were frozen in time, one shoe missing from her foot, stockings torn. Her pale skin was battered and bruised, but he was sure she died from head trauma, indicative by the slather of red staining her flesh, seeping from the back of her skull into the cracks in the tarmac.

"Y-yes," Louis sobbed, quickly tearing his gaze away. His bones shook violently, eyes quivering with unshed tears. How could he wrap his mind around the massive train of events that had just plowed through? He didn't have time to understand what had happened in the house let alone come to terms with it– and now he was standing on the curb, Anne's bloody cadaver lying contorted in the street a mere five paces ahead of him.

"I didn't even - she jumped right out in front of me, I couldn't stop in time! You gotta believe me, Sir, I'm sorry!" A different voice - a man, most likely the driver of the vehicle with the blood smudged bumper - called over the other sounds of the anxious neighborhood.

"Now, now. That's enough -," The officer silenced him, a second shoving through the crowd and dragging the man's wrists behind his back.

"You're taking a trip downtown,"

Louis couldn't focus on what anyone was saying let alone what any of it meant. He was breathing - he was sure of it - but he did not feel alive. He was gasping for air, clutching a hand over his hammering heart, mouth bone dry and throat tightening around a series of broken sobs.

"I swear, I swear to God I'm innocent –," The man argued. Louis could feel the same cries rattling in his soul.

 _Innocent_.

He knew he would never again taste such a word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was quite the ride. i'll be continually editing any plot mistakes, grammar, spelling errors, etc. the next couple chapters are gonna be insane. be sure to leave comments and my updates will come sooner (:


	14. Chapter 14

_~~~~« you are at once_  
_both the quiet_  
_and the confusion of my heart_ »

— Franz Kafka

\- ✿ -

The next week was a mortifying amalgamation of morticians, wilted floral arrangements, funeral home visits, and browsing rows of cedar wood caskets. Louis woke up every morning in the silence feeling like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a spiraling black abyss. His chest felt tight like his body was unable to take in oxygen. His gut wrenched as his insides supersaturated with guilt. He wanted to crawl into a cave of shadows and monsters and disappear forever. He wondered if then the world might forget everything and he could then live out the remainder of his depravity in peaceful isolation. Surely, it wasn't much to ask from a God so cruel.

Since the accident, such depressing thoughts hovered Louis and made it progressively more difficult for him to get out of bed every morning. He felt out of place in Anne's home now, like an intruder wandering the halls, eating the food from her refrigerator and resting on her mattress at night. Adjusting to her absence was difficult. For two months Louis had learned to live with the woman, listen to her, draw her baths, compliment her cooking and dirty his hands in her backyard garden. He had grown quite fond of her, although he never could have loved her the way she desired.

Of all the inconceivable events that took place in the Cox household, that was what Louis felt most ashamed of.

Anne was so hopeful but so incredibly naive. She was fragile after Desmond's death, desperate enough to latch onto whomever nearest. Louis fed her lies with ease. He never intended to harm her, physically nor emotionally, and knew he would not survive himself if he entertained the blame. One could only tangle with insanity for so long before succumbing to it.

Anne's funeral was a surreptitious affair. Louis didn't try to reach out to any of the woman's relatives or close friends. He couldn't handle the thought of lingering eyes passing judgement and speculation. He stood reverently beside the local church minister in the field of dead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat as he listened to the recitation of empty psalms and static prayers. He was too numb to shed a tear.

He was still shell-shocked by the explosion of events last week. One minute his world was crashing down on him, his secrets were spilling, his wife was leaving him, he was never going to see Harry – the love of his life – ever again. Now Anne was gone, dead and none of that mattered.

Louis didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

He trudged home after the burial, quietly closing the front door behind him and hanging up his coat on the rack in the foyer. He entered the kitchen, retrieving a new bottle of whisky from the cabinet shelf, unscrewing the cap and pouring himself a glass. He stood like corpse in the silence, chilled by the constant tick tick tick of the wall clock. He pushed past the screen door of the back porch.

Nature was silent. Time was irrelevant. He sat on the last step, swallowing the contents of his glass until there was nothing more to savor. Temperance was a lie. His throat burned. His chest felt heavy. His eyes echoed with the hollowness of his spirit as he attempted to close his mind around it all.

He had to punish himself. He deserved something horrible for the evil deeds brought upon his heart. He couldn't walk away from this.

He felt himself start to shake. He wrapped his arms around his waist, dipping his chin to his sternum and pinching his eyelids tight enough blind himself. A harsh sob tore itself from his windpipe and he choked, hot tears filling the corners of his eyes. He tried to draw in a breath but his lungs only stiffened under his ribs.

" _God_ — what have I done?" He cried, digging his nails into his skin. The sky was dark.

He pressed fingers into his eyelids, willing the flow of tears to a stop. He couldn't cry out to God now - not after he came into the home of an innocent family and took their lives away from them. He'd already secured himself a seat in the underworld.

He stood slowly, gripped his glass and carried it back into the kitchen. He abandoned it on the counter for the entire bottle, tipping it back in earnest as he wandered into his study. He glanced around the room, unsure of the feelings which brought him here. He wasn't in mourning. He felt angry. He felt sick with his desire. He felt shame for his indifference; disgust for his selfishness. He wanted to go back in time and rewind to the day he decided to come here. He wished he had some way to undo everything.

He caught a glimpse of his journal resting innocently on his desk. All at once every unspoken emotion attacked him like a pack of rabid dogs. He grasped the journal and began to separate the pages from their binding. He tore each page in half, in quarters, balling others. He didn't stop until the room was a flood of white.

He then yanked out his drawers and dumped every play, book of poetry and novel of romance onto the surface of his desk. He gathered up Harry's innocent letters along with the ones Anne had written the day of her demise and shelved them in the fireplace, one by one. As a writer he was very sensitive on the topic of art. He used to believe no work was unfit.

But the devil had consumed him in his passion and taken the one thing which was his escape. He swiped a match against the side of its box, swallowing hard as the warmth kissed his fingertips. He took one final glimpse of his literature before tossing the flame forward. He felt little remorse as the fire devoured the paper like a ravenous lion, blackening their fragile edges and curling their molecules in submission.

He sniffled and took another swig from the bottle. Each time he drank for release but only found himself sinking deeper. He was losing it and this time he had no Anne, no guilt or morose morality checks to cease him. So he resorted to the same sweet escape he'd spent the last six weeks trying to elude: few soothing images of his beautiful, beautiful Harry burned behind his retinas.

 _Harry_. He gasped, wetly.

How on earth was he supposed to tell him?

\- ✿ -

By Tuesday Louis managed to get out of bed with a plan of action. First things first, he wrote Harry a letter explaining the situation with Anne. Not the truth, of course. Harry didn't deserve to be greeted with such terrible news. The boy's whole life would change after that and Louis wanted to at least see him smile one more time. Later, he would have to figure out a way to explain her death. Louis sent the letter at noon.

He wasted no time after showering, dressing and cooking himself a supplementary brunch. He entered Harry's room, taking a moment to drink in the sights. He hadn't been in here since the day the boy was shipped off to summer camp; the boy's belongings were frozen in time, toys, shoes and clothes all patiently awaiting the return of their boy.

Louis dragged open Harry's closet, brushing his fingers over wrinkled white dress shirts and navy blue school uniform trousers. He went over to the boy's dresser and tugged open the top drawer, running his gaze over balled up t-shirts and mismatched sock pairs. He smiled.

He quickly retreated the master bedroom and retrieved a suitcase from the top shelf in the closet, trying his best not to look at Anne's own belongings as he did so. He brought it into Harry's room and laid it flat on his mattress, unzipped the flap and began filling it with Harry's clothes. He liked how Harry looked in his flannel print pajamas, the way his baby soft skin never seemed fully concealed beneath its billowing. Just the thought of seeing Harry again made him swoon. He folded them twice and tucked them in the bottom of the suitcase.

In truth, Louis wasn't sure he wanted to return to this house. There were many unpleasant memories. He somewhat feared Anne's presence still lingered in the walls, looming over his body as he slept, scrutinizing his impure thoughts. His rough itinerary stated he would leave the Cox-Tomlinson household for the rest of the summer, rent accommodations in the city for work at Beardsley College in the fall and then return to the estate during spring break of the following year. He wasn't sure if Harry would respond well to this plan. The boy would have a lot to process after hearing and understanding the fate of his mother.

Louis prepared a picnic basket of food for the journey, gathered up his lecture notes and textbooks and packed up all his personal paraphernalia in the bag he brought here the day of his arrival. He couldn't wait to get on the road. It had been two months and so much had happened since then; he'd fallen in love, gotten married, became a homeowner and then a father.

Louis had always had never done well with depression and an idle mind. Perhaps it was for the best that he chase a new dream. Regardless of whatever had happened or hadn't happened in the Cox-Tomlinson home, Louis was still living and breathing and thus had every opportunity.

He tried to dwell on that as he stored the last of his belongings into the boot of Anne's blue Pontiac on Wednesday afternoon. He shut the trunk and wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting at the horizon. He would pick Harry up first thing tomorrow.

\- ✿ -

The dirt road seemed endless. Tires crunched over gravel and dead leaves. The sun peered through the canopy at the roof of the forest, creating a hazy but lovely morning glow when paired with the splatter of dewdrops on the windshield.

The campground was not far off the main road. In a mile or two young voices a fan to fill the tranquil atmosphere. Louis pulled the car through the gate and carefully maneuvered past groups of boys of all ages walking around, talking and laughing and roughhousing with each other. Louis smiled at them behind the protection of his windshield, images of his own young Harry filling his mind.

He found a parking spot easily enough. Finding the administrator of the campground was much more of a feat. He felt short of breath as he stepped up the front steps of the administrative building and pushed open the front door. He scanned the room, plastering a smile onto his face as he made eye contact with someone with a badge on.

"I'm actually not sure where young Harry is that the moment. They have free period until noon, I'm afraid," The camp officer explained, ushering Louis out the back door and through the campground. Several rows of tents were aligned on the field. Some were lopsided while others torn from their stakes. Louis wondered if the boys set those up themselves.

"Jeff, could you please notify Harry Styles that his stepfather is here to pick him up early?" The man said into the speaker of his walkie talkie.

"Yes, no problem, Tim. I think he went down to the stables again," the crackly voice replied.

"Thank you, my good Sir," Tim replied, then turned to Louis. "Jeff has been his counselor for the past few weeks. He's had nothing but good things to say about your boy,"

Louis smiled, "I sure hope so,"  
In truth, he didn't care much for formalities. And he certainly didn't care for the heat already slicking the hair to his forehead.

"Harry took a liking to the horses," Tim explained, clipping the radio back onto his belt.

"Really?" Louis smacked a mosquito on his forearm.

"Yes Sir, he has a way with animals. I also think he took a liking to our stable boy. Those two never go anywhere without the other. That's one of the reasons I love working with these kids: seeing them make friends and learn responsibility is a prize on its own,"

"This... stable boy," Louis thought for a minute, thinking back to the contents of Harry's letter. "He's not a camper?"

"No, he's the son of our head cook. His name's ... Z-Zach, I think?" Tim frowned. Louis wondered then how Harry met him. Before he could press the camp administrator for any more insight, Tim had turned his gaze back toward the tents and was outstretching a pointer finger.

"There he is, now," he smiled.

Louis craned in the direction of the boy, heart resurrecting in his chest as his eyes fell upon the boy. He looked the same, though his hair was slightly longer and darker. He was two-toned gold, his once floury complexion burdened with the sun's affliction. Louis wanted nothing more than to curl his fingers around Harry's wrist, yank him into his chest, slide his knee between Harry's thighs and and mouth across the dip of his sweet, gingered collarbones. He wanted to tug Harry's warm roots and lick the salty sweat from his upper lip before aligning their mouths and tangling their tongues. He swallowed hard as he felt his cock twitch under his pants. He sheepishly looked to the left at Tim. He was suddenly very eager to leave.

"Hi dad!" Harry sang as he lugged his suitcase up to the top of the hill, resting it against the forest floor. The boy stood up tall and flicked his fringe away from his eyes, looping his hands through the straps of his knapsack.

Louis was at a loss for words. For a moment he just admired his ( _this gorgeous, magnificent faunlet was all his)_ boy, from his sweet little curls to his dirty lace up trainers. He reached his hand out slowly at first and passed his fingers through Harry's hair. He ran the pad of his thumb back behind his ear, then down to cup his shoulder.

"You look lovely, Harry," he breathed, the words catching in his throat. Harry may have preened, or he may have bitten his blushing lip and fluttered his lashes indifferently. Louis was not qualified to decipher his flirtations.

"You look old. Can we go now?" He asked in a tinny voice, letting his shoulders slump theatrically. Louis chuckled, rolling his eyes toward Tim.

"Now, now, you behave, Harry. We've done some good work here, haven't we?" Tim lifted his brow.

"I guess. But I'm _so_ ready to go home," Harry said as Louis reached down and folded his fingers around the handle of his suitcase.

"So you shall. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson. I hope you two have a safe trip. We look forward to seeing Harry again next year," Tim said shortly, giving Louis a firm handshake. Louis nodded, offering similar sentiments before letting Harry drag him out of the campsite, whining about how incredibly famished he was. 

\- ✿ -

"How's mom?" Harry asked, pushing his seat back and kicking his shoes up onto the dashboard. He slipped a french fry into his mouth, already reaching his hand down in the bag for another.

 _Six feet under_. Louis shivered, quickly shaking the thought from his head. He could not tell Harry the truth. Not yet, anyway. The boy would never look at him like this again - with his perfect eyes furrowed, lips slightly pursed in curiosity. _No_ , Louis decided, swallowing the guilt.

"The doctors think it's her heart. You know she always works herself up. They'll probably just prescribe something to calm her down and she'll be back home and bustling in no time," He lied, offering a tiny smile. In his letter he had explained Anne's situation to be a minor hospital visit. Nothing serious. Nothing fatal. He had to handle this with care. Harry looked at him, nodding once before he continued to eat.

"So... how was camp? Meet any nice lads?" Louis wondered, blindly pushing his hand into Harry's paper bag, pulling out a fry and shoving it between his lips. Harry gave him a dirty look and Louis wasn't sure whether it was for stealing part of his meal or asking about the boys at camp. Most likely both.

"Wouldn't you like to know," He mumbled. Louis glanced back in the mirror, switching lanes to maneuver onto the main road.

"Mm, just curious," he hummed, hoping to convey his feelings without sounding overly possessive. He didn't want Harry to think he was obsessing over him while he was away.

"I've missed you," he added, looking over. Harry finished his meal and crumpled up the paper bag in his lap before tossing it in the backseat behind them.

"Yeah right," he huffed, readjusting in his seat to rest his head against the open window. The sun was awful, but the air cool enough to welcome a traveling breeze.

Louis frowned, rubbing a hand over his face.  "What's that for?"

Harry didn't respond. He picked at the hole in the knee of his trousers, growing bored of it after a minute. He sat up again, unstrapping his seatbelt and crawling over the console to get into the back. Louis could hear him digging around the trunk, then fiddling with the zipper of one of the suitcases before his silhouette appeared in the rear view mirror. He boy lifted the t shirt over his shoulders, balled it up and tossed it onto the floor of the car. He then rummaged through the bag, presumably searching for more comfortable attire. Louis focused hard on the road and not the fact that beautiful Harry was stripping off in the seat behind him.

The boy eventually returned to his seat in a loose white tank top and black capris. He slipped his socks off one by one and paired them off together, tossing them to the floor as well. Louis swallowed hard as Harry reached over to the radio, fiddling with the knob until the lulling voice of Annette Henshaw filled the car.

"Harry," Louis started again. Harry produced a little bottle of pink nail varnish, lifted his ankles back onto the dashboard and began to unscrew the cap.

"You don't think I missed you?" Louis wondered, aching at the thought. He thought about Harry every moment of every second, every minute of every hour.

The boy sighed, feigning calmness. Louis could see how his shoulders tensed before he generated a response.

"You don't care about me anymore," he shrugged, his tone lowering as he carefully applied a wet coat of polish to his big toe.

"Why would you think I don't care about you?" Louis wanted to scoff at the absurdity, but thought better of it. Perhaps Harry really didn't understand Louis's feelings toward him. 

"Because," the boy breathed, "You and mom. Obviously. You married her,"

Louis shook his head slowly, every fiber of his being protesting Harry's feelings, though he knew every word was correct. He never once considered how Harry might respond to his union with Anne.

With that being thought, Louis never explained his true motives for marrying Harry's mother either. Of course he was afraid of confessing his love and being rejected, but he feared admitting to _using_ Anne even more. Though they didn't always get along, Anne was still Harry's mother, the woman who bore him, fed him and tried her best to raise him. There was no telling how angry Harry would be once he pieced things together.

Harry pulled his foot toward his chest to paint his last toe. When he finished, he capped the bottle and rolled the window down to let more of the breeze in. Louis chewed his bottom lip, thinking.

"Besides," Harry cleared his throat.  
"You haven't even kissed me or anything. That's how I know for sure,"

Louis's chest filled with oxygen. His fingers grew clammy around the brown leather of the steering wheel. He processed Harry's words and looked over at him. He was sure his eyes told the boy all he needed to know.

They were on the back road some ten miles from their destination. The midday light warmed Louis's fingertips. He hadn't seen a car in the last twenty minutes.

He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip as he surveyed the mirrors for any sign of traffic. Satisfied with their isolation, he then maneuvered onto the shoulder of the road, putting the car in park and enabling the emergency brake. His heart thundered beneath his ribs.

Harry bit his knuckles as Louis moved his seat back, eyes glazed in uncertainty. The boy didn't speak as he placed his palm on Louis's thigh, running his thumb against the inseam of his pants. Louis stared at his hand.

"Can I sit on your lap?" he asked, his voice coming out much softer than anticipated. Louis passed an overwhelmed hand over his face, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

"Please," he begged, reaching out to cup the back of Harry's neck. The boy bit his lower lip as he crawled across the console. Louis curled his fingers around Harry's wrist as the boy slid his perfect bum over his lap, sideways with his back to the door and his feet in his own seat so his toes could dry.

"Harry—," Louis felt short of breath. He threaded his fingers through Harry's soft, slightly sweaty roots, inhaling his sweet, boyish scent. He was like a wet dream, a beautiful mirage in a scalding wasteland; so innocent and so incredibly dangerous.

Harry's eyes were tender as they looked at him, a smaller, softer, paler hand coming around to cover his.

"Just... shut up and kiss me, you fool," he said, puckering his lips. And who was Louis to deny him?

He had to savor this moment - with Harry, one never knew when another chance would arise. The boy was swift like a river's current; one moment his attraction was returned, sparks flew, flames were bursting between his hips and the next, he was too busy with childish misadventure to be bored with the complexities of love.

Louis thumbed over his jaw, gently lifting his head and slowly pressing their mouths together. All sounds were drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears and the rapid palpations of his heart in his chest.

Harry took control quickly, hooking his fingers in the collar of Louis's shirt, pushing his tongue deep into Louis's mouth. _Where did he learn that_ , Louis thought briefly, his mind quickly blanking out with the taste of the boy's tongue. Their noses knocked together as Harry tilted his head to the side, using his jaw to part Louis's lips. Louis inhaled sharply at Harry's sudden show of dominance, wrapping his arms around his midsection and pulling him tighter against his chest.

It continued that way until Louis's final breath: just when he thought he was coming to terms with the unfathomable lust he had for the boy, the passion that boiled in his blood, the chronic ache in his groin to have his body every way known to man - Harry found a new way to confound him with desire. He was unable to relax for even a moment to wrap his mind around Harry's sensation. The boy was an addiction, a shot of unsatisfactory relief that he would always come crawling back to. He had no choice, no conviction. Louis would stutter this maddening need from his grave.

Already he could feel his cock fattening in his trousers but he was determined to focus on the boy's supple lips and not the dark thoughts pushing into his head.

Harry's fingers grasped his shirt, his chest quickly rising and falling beneath him. Louis lazily rubbed his tongue against his, reveling in the soft stick of their lips each time Harry pulled up for air. And Louis tugged him back in each time, insatiable of the taste. He never felt complete unless Harry's warm skin was pressed against him, those fingers curled around his jaw to steady as he flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

They kissed for another minute or two before Harry began to shift away, fingering the soft hairs at the back of Louis's neck. The atmosphere was relieved of tension as Harry parted his eyes and wiped the back of his hand over his spit slick lips. He was still close - close enough to share Louis's breath. With every passing moment he fought the urge to dart forward and capture those red lips in another bruising kiss.

"I was bad," Harry breathed against him a minute later, touching their foreheads. Louis frowned, moving his fingers into the boy's back.

"Not as bad as me," Louis admitted, letting his eyes flutter shut. Harry smirked, as if he begged to differ. Louis knew whatever Harry had done could not contend with murder.

Harry kissed the corner of his mouth before shifting in his lap to rest his head on Louis's shoulder.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

« _we live in the dark, we do what we can, the rest is the madness of art_ »

— Henry James, _The Middle Years_

\- ✿ -

They arrived at the Boston hotel as the sun reunited with the horizon. Louis helped Harry unload his suitcase from the boot, ruffling his curls when he complained about being too fatigued to carry it. He managed to lug both his and Harry's bags to the front desk.

The hotel was buzzing with more excitement than he'd hoped for on a Thursday evening. The man at the desk informed him that since he did not confirm his reservations this afternoon, they had to give them up to visitors of the Methodist pastoral convention. Apparently, now the only rooms available were single suites on the fourth floor. Louis sighed as he took in this information. He supposed one of them could sleep on the floor? He asked the man if it were possible to send a cot and some extra bedding up to their room. He nodded, then untangled a set of room keys from a hook on the post behind him and slid them across the counter to Louis. He had him sign in, told him their room number and then called the bellhop over to tend to Louis's luggage.

When Louis turned around, Harry was nowhere in sight. He frowned, taking hesitant steps around the hotel lobby. There were all kinds of people laughing and talking there, some dressed in dazzling outfits for performance or religious robes. He muttered apologies as he shouldered past a group of men in matching red tuxedos by the entry way of the sitting room, where he found Harry kneeling beside a small white dog.

"Harry, whose dog is that? You can't just touch other people's pets without permission –,"

"Relax. He's not gonna bite," Harry looked up at him, still rubbing the little dog's hairless belly.

"Come on, we're going up to the room," He commanded, curling his hand around Harry's elbow and pulling him away from the innocent animal. He stood and shrugged out of Louis's hold, turning to a man seated in one of the leather armchairs.

"Thanks for letting me play with your dog, Mr. Winston," Harry said, his eyes swimming with a surprising sincerity. Louis couldn't see the man's face - Harry was blocking him. He could only hear the lull of his sonorous voice.

"No problem. He likes you a lot more than he likes me," it said.

The boy chuckled, looking down at the dog again. Louis curiously watched the exchange.

"Have a good evening, Harry," Mr. Winston said. And through the haze of distracting voices and faces, they finally made eye contact. He was seated, so his height couldn't be determined, but his shoulders were wide and framed expensively by his black suit jacket. He had a few rings on his right hand, a gold chain hiding behind the first two buttons of his shirt. His hair was like a night one couldn't escape, jet black and slicked back on the top of his head. His eyes were most harrowing as he smirked and smiled, a large hand stroking the stubble on his jaw while the other curled around the neck of his cherry wood cane. Louis wasn't opposed to Harry being friendly and making acquaintances, but there was something unsettling about this man. He didn't bother introducing himself.

"Come on, Harry," he muttered, placing his hand on the nape of the boy's neck and steering him out of the room.

\- ✿ -

"There's only one bed," Harry noted, turning around. Louis peered up at him as he handed the room attendant a crisp dollar bill. The man thanked him and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, yeah I spoke with the man downstairs and he said he would bring a cot up for you,"

"Moi?" Harry cradled his chest with his palm.

"Or... I can sleep on it. Whatever you want, Baby," Louis hummed as he rested his suitcase on the mattress and unzipped it. It had been a long day of driving and he wanted to wash up and change before dinner.

Harry hurled himself onto the bed, spreading his limbs across the cool duvet. He buried his face in the fresh, lemon scented linen, releasing a soft sigh.

"We could always just share the bed," Louis suggested as he pulled out a change of clothes and his toothbrush. It was the obvious solution.

"Yeah... but then Mother will be heartbroken," Harry turned onto his back.

"Why is that?" he wondered, not following Harry's train of thought.

The boy was quiet for a moment. He looked at Louis and then looked down, playing with his hands on his stomach.

"Because," he started, his voice low as if the world were listening.  
"She'll start to think all sorts of things if she knew we shared a bed,"

Louis frowned, rubbing his shoulder.

"She'll think I seduced you,"

"She would never suspect a thing like that," Louis cut him off with confidence, though there were still many things he did not understand about the boy and his mother's relationship. Perhaps she was just crazy enough to blame Harry for everything, even something as serious as ruining her marriage.

"How would you know?" he glanced up, lifting his eyebrows. Louis looked back at him, concern filling his chest.

"Because she's ..." he shook his head. He thought long and hard before he spoke.

"She's too innocent to imagine it. I'm your stepfather now, and it would then become a situation of... of -,"

"Incest? Sodomy?" Harry suggested, pushing his fringe out of his face.

"Er, something like that," He wondered where the boy learned to toss around such cold and doctrinal words.

_'Leviticus 20:13 – and if a man lie with mankind as with womankind, both of them have committed abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them...'_

He knew even that couldn't change the way he ached for Harry.

"But I'm sure you don't plan on telling her anytime soon," Louis straightened his spine, dropping the lid on his suitcase and zipping it back up.

\- ✿ -

After Louis got dressed, he managed to convince Harry to change into something more suited for a fancy dinner at the hotel restaurant. The boy complained of course, but was eventually moved by the promise of food.

The dining hall was huge and elegant, designed to house many guests at once. There were long red robes cloaking the wall of nine foot tall windows and a soft velvet carpet sinking beneath his feet. The air smelled of expensive alcohol and rich spices. Each table was sparkling in the dimmed lighting with slim champagne glasses encircling a vanilla candle centerpiece. The atmosphere warmed Louis's spirit as he followed the host through the room.

They were seated in a small round table in the center of the restaurant. The host offered them a smile, handed them each a menu, then left. Harry looked adorable in his wrinkled white button up. Louis resisted the urge to come around the table and fix his collar.

"The Chicken Alfredo sounds good. Or maybe the Steak au Poivre with roasted garlic and sautéed asparagus–,"

"Do they have chocolate cake?" Harry asked, kicking Louis's knee under the table.

"I'm sure they do," he grimaced, reaching down to rub his knee. "You should probably eat some real food first,"

"I'll just get pasta," the boy concluded, folding his menu and placing it flat on the table. When their waitress arrived, Louis ordered a bottle of red wine. Harry said he wasn't thirsty.

"Hey, you know that guy I was talking to earlier?" he leaned forward after the waitress left.

"The weird bloke with the dog," Louis chewed the inside of his cheek as he looked over the menu, still unsure of what he wanted to eat. He didn't want to try anything spontaneous but he wasn't in the mood for spaghetti or salad.

"You thought he was weird?" Harry huffed, resting his elbows on the table.

"I just don't get why he brought his dog to a four star hotel," Louis mumbled.

"Sprinkles wasn't barking or anything. Maybe Mr. Winston couldn't find anyone to watch him," Harry played with his fingers. Louis frowned. Did he really care enough to defend a stranger?

The waitress returned with Louis's wine and he thanked her. They both gave their orders, Louis settling on the Steak au Poivre and Harry ordering Pappardelle with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese. The boy took his retainer out and placed it on the napkin beside his silverware.

"Anyway, I'm almost positive he's Ben Winston, like, the New England film director, Ben Winston," Harry explained, reaching across the table for the bottle of wine.

"Um– what do you think you're doing?" Louis snatched the bottle out of his reach.

"Oh please," Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not a chance, Harry Edward,"

"Come on, just a sip?"

Louis shook his head as he poured himself a glass. He rested the bottle down on his end of the table, far out of Harry's reach.

"Daddy, come _on_. I'll be good! I'll be _so_ good, I promise," he groaned, sliding his ankle down the back of Louis's calf. The man shuddered, scooting his seat back. Harry's foot dropped to the floor.

"You're not being good right now! And I'm not letting you drink in front of all these nice people. What kind of father would I look like?" Louis took a sip of his wine, savoring the taste.

"A sexy one," Harry bit his bottom lip. He scoffed.

"You're impossible,"

"I thought I was beautiful? Lovely? Angelic? Like the light of a thousand stars?" Harry teased, running a knuckle over his lip.

"Only sometimes," Louis simpered, unfolding his napkin across his lap.

The waitress returned about ten minutes later with their entrées. Almost as soon as the woman placed the plate in front of Harry, he dug into his meal like a starving wolf. Louis even let him steal pieces of steak from his plate so he could watch his perfect lips close around his fork, tongue swiping any spilled gravy from his bottom lip.

The food was bursting with flavor and the wine was sweet and strong as it met the back of Louis's tongue. He easily swallowed about half the bottle by the end of their meal. He didn't realize he was getting drunk until Harry pointed it out.

It was hard for Louis not to picture himself on a date with him. Harry was talking more than he ever had, giving detailed descriptions about the friends he made at camp and the activities they did together. He was laughing about how on Tuesday, he and Dick convinced James that there was a snake in his sleeping bag. He was telling Louis about Niall, his school teachers, his mother, the different boyfriends she had before Louis came into their lives and the way he felt about them.

Then he was nudging Louis's ankle underneath the table, widening his eyes and wrapping his fingers around Louis's wrist to get his attention.

"I want cake," he reminded, pushing his lip out.

"You can have cake. You can have whatever you want, My Angel. As long as you promise not to tell your mother,"

"I have a feeling there are a lot of things you don't tell my mother," Harry said, tracing his index finger around the brim of his empty glass.

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her. I never... never want to hurt her."

"Is she still mad at me?" Harry asked after a moment, displaying rare vulnerability. Louis shook his head as something sullen settled in the pit of his stomach.

"She wasn't ... 'was never _mad_ at you,"

"Bullshit," the boy folded his arms.

"Honest! I mean, she loves you a whole lot, Harry. She doesn't try to be harsh. She jus' gets so frustrated and says things she doesn't mean," Louis could imagine, but he didn't really know. Anne avoided talking about Harry as much as possible in the brief weeks they shared together. He assumed it was because she needed a break.

"You don't understand," Harry paused, looking as if he wanted to scrap the whole conversation.

"She's always ... been like that. Even when I was little," his time diminished and Louis leaned forward so he wouldn't miss the words Harry said next.

"Don't you know she didn't want me?"

Louis refused to believe it for one minute. It was bad enough Harry didn't accept when he said Anne wasn't holding a grudge. It was an entirely new dilemma to suggest she never loved him to begin with. Louis didn't know how Harry came to that conclusion and he was afraid to ask.

Perhaps Anne had told him herself. The woman had a temper like a monsoon; it had been the cause of her own demise. Sometimes Louis wondered if it was suicide.

Before he could interrogate the boy, their waitress returned to collect their dishes. Harry tugged at her apron and said he wanted a piece of dark chocolate cake with sliced strawberry and coconut shavings. The waitress glanced at the boy's father for the okay. Louis smiled sadly and nodded.

"He deserves it,"

\- ✿ -

Louis fumbled with the key in the lock for much longer than necessary. He stumbled through the doorway of the room, gripping Harry's elbow for extra support.

"You're awful," Harry scoffed. Louis wasn't drunk enough that he couldn't navigate back into their room, but he didn't mind having Harry pressed tight against him.

"Watch it, mate. I bought you cake," Louis playfully warned. So far he happened to think he was a pretty cool stepdad. Harry yanked out of his grasp and stomped across the suite.

"You drank up all the wine, you greedy hog. 'Wouldn't even let me have a sip. Not one sip? Mom would've let me," he grumbled, already kicking off his shoes in the corner of the room.

"Bloody hell, you're already comparing me to your mother? Well don't let me stop you! Go on home to her," he huffed as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, freeing his noose of a neck tie and the first few buttons of his shirt.

"Well," Harry started as he sat down in front of his suitcase.  
"It's not that she would've _let_ me. She just couldn't stop me,"

"Exactly. You can't act like it's always her fault. You push her," he said with his back turned to the boy. He pulled the tie over his head and threw it on the floor. It was no where near his suitcase, but he wasn't sober enough to get up and store it properly.

"Okay, but so what? She needs to lighten up. You said yourself, there's nothing wrong with me," the boy continued to dig in his suitcase.

"There isn't. But that isn't a free pass to make your mother miserable,"

Louis knew he would never understand. Back at the house he would watch Harry and his mother in rapt fascination. They were so much alike, both tormented souls with beautiful faces and charming qualities they thought could conceal their secret yearnings. They were yin and yang, but they fought like night and day.

"She's always been miserable," Harry said, rising to his feet once more.

"That part's got nothing to do with me,"

It was probably true. Harry was only fourteen and Louis believed there were certain things he shouldn't know, let alone have to deal until he was older. It was Louis's cursed destiny, to guide him, and guard him from his own circumstances. If he could go back in time and cradle that innocent baby boy in his arms, he would. If he could take Harry far away, erase whatever traumatic memories he had of his mother and invent a new reality for the two of them, he would.

"I know," Louis sighed. Then the room was quiet. The city moved beneath them. The air shifted between them.

He hardly noticed the mattress dipping, old springs creaking as palms slid over his shoulders. He inhaled.

Harry knelt behind him silently, throwing his arms around the man's neck. Louis lurched forward, winded by his forceful affection. He felt Harry giggling against his ear.

"Relax," the boy said, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Louis dusted his fingers over the boy's wrist.

"You know I'd rather be with you,"

Louis did know. He knew that he was, at least in a physical sense, Harry's escape just as the boy was his. He later came to the realization that he was Harry's distraction, his toy, his game, and that while it may have felt good to belong to him for a few hours of their fantasy, the long term reality would be unbearable.

Harry sat up, supporting his weight on Louis's shoulders. He smoothed his incredibly soft hands over Louis's biceps, squeezing the flesh before moving back up to his neck. Louis closed his eyes.

The boy stitched his body to his, cupped his shoulders and began to dig his thumbs into the tired muscle. Louis hummed, tearing himself from his thoughts to focus on the boy's words, the sensation of his touch, the closeness of his body.

"You're quite good at that," he praised, leaning into Harry's clever ministrations.

"Mm," the sound was like the kiss of a butterfly, buzzing at the base of his neck. Fingers followed Louis's spine, knuckles kneading into its natural arch. The boy moved his lips just below Louis's ear as his hands encircled his waist.

"Undress me," Harry murmured, stroking down Louis's sides.

He turned, abandoning all self control as he eased a hand under Harry's jaw and closed the distance between their lips. The boy looked at him, his big eyes shimmering with curiosity. Harry tongued over his bottom lip, threaded his fingers through Louis's hair and then forced their mouths together again. Louis pressed his tongue into Harry, where he was supple and still tasted like chocolate.

"You're incredible," Louis brushed the curls away from his face. Harry bowed his head, heat rushing to his face.

Nothing about today felt real. For weeks he anticipated reuniting with Harry, the moment they would kiss and sparks would fly and hearts would beat like drums of war. Now Harry was here, living and breathing and existing in this very space beside him and Louis still couldn't fathom it.

He stroked his knuckles over Harry's cheek, sucking at his bottom lip. The boy didn't squirm or try to evade him. He only ever kissed back with fervor, blushing and moaning softly, and tugging at the man's shirt to get him to bring his body closer. That's what made things so difficult to explain later.

Louis looped one arm around Harry's midsection, the other hand cradling his face and steadying the dance of their lips. Eventually Louis remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

He snaked his hand behind Harry's knee pushed him down against the mattress. He didn't stop kissing him for a moment.

The boy's throat fluttered nervously as Louis unlatched the first two buttons of his shirt. He ran his tongue along Harry's teeth as he undid the next button, then the next. As his torso was slowly revealed, Louis wasted no time moving down and skating lips under his jaw and down his throat to mouth at his sculpted collarbones. Harry's skin was soft and warm and he smelled like weeping roses. Louis felt his pulse humming below his lips. It was beautiful.

"Lift up for me," he instructed, reaching around Harry's back and peeling the shirt from his shoulders. The boy obeyed, taking his arms out. Louis folded the shirt in quarters, then rested it on the other side of the bed.

He scooted lower, undid the button and zip on Harry's trousers and dragged them down over the curve of his bum. Louis kissed his hip just above the waistband of his briefs, because sometimes he was sure he could spend hours kissing Harry's body, whispering to him how beautiful and perfect he was and that he could and _would_ love him better than anyone else.

"Sleepy?" Louis peered up. Harry was yawning. The boy rubbed his eye and nodded where he lay, melting into the mattress.

"You rest, then," he folded the trousers and put them off to the side as well. He wrapped his fingers around Harry's hand, brushing his thumb along the back of it.

"You want to touch me?" Harry whispered, rubbing his belly.

Louis thought about it. It was late. They had been traveling all day and Harry was exhausted. There would be plenty of opportunities for orgasms in the near future, so he shook his head.

"No," Louis kissed his hand. The boy watched him with hooded eyes.  
"Let me tuck you in,"

He helped Harry under the covers and  the boy curled up tightly against the pillows. Louis rubbed his shoulder, giving it one last squeeze before he stood, grabbed a cigarette from the pack of camels in his suitcase, a box of matches, and their room key before slipping back out into the hall.

\- ✿ -

Louis wasn't keen on nicotine until he watched Harry's mother bleed out on the road beside their home. He never tried to choke himself on the emotions he was starving to feel. He never felt anxious like when he spoke openly to Harry about the truth, yet cleverly withheld it.

Louis knew putting it off would only worsen the blow. He knew it was building like a storm with every moment he didn't tell him, but he couldn't bring himself to ruin this dreamlike state of easy conversation, shy gazes and gay, flirtatious smiles. He was Harry's father now, his legal guardian and primary caregiver. His job was to protect him and to make sure he was happy. Always.

This was the first of many wars between Louis's balance and Harry's sanity. Sooner or later, the boy would find out. But with the Devil's grace it would be later, rather than sooner.

Louis scraped the match against the side of the box several times before sparking a light. He brought the flame to the end of the cigarette lodged between his lips. It burned and he shook the match until the fire diminished, tossing it into the shrubs below.

The billowing plume stung the back of his throat. He moved the cigarette away from his mouth to exhale, letting the ash fall over the porch side.

He wasn't sure what they were doing. He'd all but forgotten his plans and tomorrow felt so uncertain. He didn't know if he should just kiss the boy while he had the chance, or if he should restrain his lust until a proper opportunity arose. He didn't want to rush things between them. He'd like to think he and Harry had infinity.

But it couldn't get any more opportunistic than this. Anne was out of the picture, Harry was without a clue, there was a queen sized bed waiting for him on the fourth floor and Louis was smoking outside the hotel, trying to make the right choice. Why did he always find himself in this position?

"You got a light?" a tenor broke the lulling chirps of a thousand crickets and pulled Louis from his thoughts. He looked to his left and was startled by the closeness of the man.

The porch lights were dim and Louis was rather distracted, but without a doubt, it was the stranger from the lobby earlier that evening. It took a moment for Louis to recall his name.

 _'Thanks for letting me play with your dog, Mr. Winston'_ , Harry had said.

Of course he did not have his dog with him now. The man's hair was even darker, the contours of his face more grimly defined as the night encroached on his silhouette. His button up was slightly wrinkled around the collar and his eyes were shadowed by purple half moons. Nevertheless, he was a handsome man- much taller and broader than Louis could ever dream of being.

"Um– yeah, here," he fumbled as he slid the matchbox from his pants pocket. Mr. Winston took it without a word, using the flame to light his fat Peruvian cigar.

"Thanks," Mr. Winston passed back the box of matches with a friendly smile. Louis nodded as he took them.

"It's hot this time of year," he noted, exhaling a rope of smoke. Louis shifted away as subtly as possible.

"I suppose,"

"What part of England are you from?"

Louis pressed his hand to his temple. He had not anticipated a conversation with this, _Mr. Winston_. If anything, he wanted to stay as far away from him as physically possible. Louis wasn't intimidated really, but there was sarcasm in his voice and a glint in his eye that could not be ignored.

"Um... Yorkshire," he answered, tight and guarded like he was being cross examined.

"Ah, I've been there once before. Yes, it was to shoot of my first films. We went to – Halifax. The Victorian architecture was magnificent; so much of it is still immaculately intact. I've been wanting to go back and absorb more of the sights ever since," Mr. Winston smiled, taking a seat on one of the porch benches behind him.

Louis hummed in affirmation, but it was only because he had nothing else to say. His brain wasn't processing information as quickly as it should because wine and Harry were one hell of a combination.

"What are you in town for?" he decidedly asked, not wanting to look foolish by abstaining from the conversation.

"Well. Originally, it was a photo shoot in promotion of my latest film. But I've just recently been searching for new talent. I have an agency, you know?" He crossed a leg over the other then nudged the cigar back between his lips.

"I'm afraid I don't, but it sounds interesting. What sort of talent are you looking for?" Louis said, only to be polite.

"Fresh faces. Preferably young. Actors, models, musicians, dancers. An all American beauty who can melt the hearts of every crowd with just a smile," Ben said, waving his hand for emphasis. A man with a vision.

 _How inspirational_ , Louis scoffed.  
Wasn't he supposed to be a notorious film director? (— or was it producer? He couldn't remember which, nor did he care) Not for a moment would he believe this man was famous for doing anything.

"Might I ask, what is your profession, Mr.–,"

"Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson. I'm a writer," he muttered, taking another drag.

"Swell! Are you published?" Ben cocked his head.

"Um. I've had some things published. Mostly theses on the evolution of romantic language and... fictional pieces studying modern human sexology. Nothing a practical man such as yourself would have studied," Louis pushed the hair out of his face.

Ben laughed suddenly, the sound roaring from his chest like thunder.

"Brilliant!"

Louis could feel heat rising to his face and he was glad he had his back turned. He couldn't tell if it were a genuine compliment; he was a pretentious lyricist. Most were bored by his analyses.

"You must be a practical man as well, then, Mr. Tomlinson," the man appraised, raising his cigar.

"I'd like to think so, Mr. Winston,"

They spoke that way for five short minutes that never seemed to end, kissing each other's rumps with empty formalities whilst assessing the other's intent. Louis was was easily amused by the man's sharp wit, but hardly felt challenged by his attempted language.

Any day of the week, he could outsmart filmmaker Ben Winston and his aureate accessories, pricey colognes and tales of private planes and exotic getaways. Nothing of him was fresh or innovative. He was another bougie, middle aged failure providing lip service where it was welcomed. As the master of falsehood, Louis could tell when and how it was being used.

It was almost midnight when Ben Winston finally said what he must have been thinking the entire time they spoke.

"That boy of yours. Harry," he breathed, standing from the bench.

Louis's chest tightened. He never hated anything more than the sound of that name rolling off of Ben Winston's tongue. He felt violated by the very use of Harry in someone else's sentence.

"What about him?" he asked, glancing at Ben as he took slow steps forward.

"He's a real beauty, you know? Charming, friendly, _young_ , and absolutely stunning. He would make it big in the entertainment industry," he explained, nudging Louis's arm as he leaned his weight against the railing.

"I'm sure I believe he could do anything if he set his mind to it." Louis pulled away, running a hand over his elbow. Mr. Winston looked him up and down.

"But of course," he breathed, "Naturally, as his father, you would believe in him,"

Louis wasn't sure what his point was. He stubbed his cigarette out on the ash tray beside him.

"Funny, though. He hardly resembles you," the man observed, furrowing his eyes and tilting his head as if to see something that wasn't there.

"I'm his stepfather. He's not– not mine," Louis stammered, caving. He wasn't afraid of Ben. He didn't feel scared, but every cell in his body was telling him to flee.

"I see," Winston exhaled, a spider web of fog rising from his lips. Louis tucked his hands into his pants pockets. He wondered if it would be rude to walk away.

"Anyway, think about it. Your boy could bring home some serious dough," Ben cleared his throat, producing a small business card from his wallet. He tucked it into the front pocket of Louis's shirt, giving it a small pat.

Louis knew Harry was more beautiful than any other person on the face of the earth. He knew Harry's spirit was perfect for the spotlight and that he could make men and women burn with lust and melt with affection at the mere sight of him. Damning this man might have actually passed up the opportunity for Louis to build an incredible life for his boy.

But he would never willingly allow Harry to go with a man like Ben Winston. He was stuck up and spouted nonsense about wealth and glamor like such empty promises could arise with his services. Louis also loved Harry and didn't want to get his hopes up only for this Ben Winston to reveal himself a liar, a cheat and a swindler who hadn't a penny to his name.

"It's late. I'm going to head up to my room," Louis inhaled. Mr. Winston lifted his arm to glance at his watch.

"It was lovely chatting with you," he lied, worming out of the man's invisible hold.

"Likewise. You have a good night now, Louis," the corner of his mouth lifted.

He shivered, but tried not to overanalyze what just happened as he went back into the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** the next 2-3 chapter will consist of sexual content between a grown ass man and a child. if underaged stuff bothers / triggers you in any way, please don't read !  
>  and be sure to let me know what you think about the story so far


	16. *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** underage and unprotected sex ensues ahead

« _come live with me_  
_and be my love_ »

— C. Marlowe

\- ✿ -

Despite the pleasant combination of alcohol and tobacco in his system, Louis's thoughts still whirred like a cyclone. He rode the elevator to the fourth floor in the silence of his isolation, losing the battle between mental exhaustion and the buzz of excitement beneath his veins.

He stepped out of the lift, walked three paces down the hall to stand in front of his and Harry's hotel room. He cupped the little silver doorknob in his palm, slid the room key out of his back pocket, then into the lock, turning it once.

A cool, blue tone engulfed Louis's skin as he pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Shadows of the city below ran across the empty walls. The curtains were drawn, but moonlight fingered along the edge of the window, daring to bear witness.

It only took Louis a second to rest his gaze on the bed. At first he tried not to look, for he knew the moment his eyes grazed the curve of Harry's body beneath the smooth, white sheets – he would be powerless.

He distracted himself by going over to his suitcase, rummaging through it until he found a matching pair of pajamas. He found his toothbrush and toothpaste as well, then stood for the ensuite bathroom. There, he changed and took care of his nightly routine. He splashed some cold water on his face and rubbed his eyelids, hoping to calm down.

He left the bathroom eventually, flipping off the light and pulling the door shut behind him. He glanced around the room and discovered that the front desk never sent up the cot. Louis was equally delighted and dismayed by that fact, as he was with most things that pertained to Harry. He knew he would have remembered to check on that while he was downstairs, had he really meant what he said to the boy about sleeping on it.

But sue him. Was he really so wrong to want to sleep in the same bed as the boy? Had he not been careful with Harry in the company of others? He only kissed Harry in the seclusion on his car, pulled off road in case anyone driving by happened to look over and see. He'd spent his money on this fancy hotel and their dinner and bought Harry his chocolate cake just to prove to himself and the universe that he wasn't just the child lusting monster he condemned in the mirror each day. There was love. So much of it Louis feared his heart might stop.

And sure he thought about it - turning away that instant, depositing their room key at the hotel's front desk, climbing into Anne's blue Pontiac and disappearing forever into the misty night void. (He would later regret not doing everything in his power to save Harry.)

Were it possible for a man like Louis to see such a sweet, beautiful creature and not desire to touch him? He had resisted the urges though they branded him like hot iron. Did he not deserve to even hold the boy, to pull Harry tight against his chest, kiss his unsuspecting lips and roll his fingertips through his hair? Louis stood in the center of the room, wallowing in it all.

He wanted to do other things as well.  
His stomach did flips at the thought of them.

But he couldn't.

Louis's feelings were a fire and he could not let them spread to other parts of his relationship with Harry. If he indulged his dangerous fantasies and touched Harry's body once, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

He unclasped his watch and rested it on the bedside table before drawing back the duvet. He gingerly sat down on the mattress, wincing as the bed springs croaked. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure he hadn't jostled the boy awake. Harry exhaled softly, eye lashes beating like butterfly wings.

Louis tucked his legs under the covers, then carefully rested back against the pillows. He smoothed the duvet out over himself.

As he stared at the barren ceiling, he realized he wasn't tired in the slightest and now he was sharing a bed with his temptation. All he had was his hyperactive mind and twelve solid hours to get through.

It was going to be a long night.

\- ✿ -

Sometime in the earliest hour, Louis started to doze off. He laid on his back, hands resting flat on his stomach with low breaths escaping his lips. He didn't remember what his dream was about and couldn't tell whether or not he conjured it up in his mind, but he was sure he felt a fingertip slide over his bottom lip. His nose twitched, but he didn't arouse. He assumed it was part of the dream and resumed his rest.

But a little while later, he definitely felt hands skimming across his stomach. His eyes were still closed, but his brow furrowed when pressure appeared just above his pelvis, almost as if someone were on top of him. He woke up when he felt lips moving against his.

"Harry-," he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. Harry's lips were gentle as they brushed against his, coaxing him awake. He ran his thumb along the side of Louis's face as he pulled away.

"What are you doing?" Louis asked, lifting an arm to rub at his eyes. He wasn't angry that his rest was being disturbed and he certainly wouldn't complain about having Harry on top of him, kissing him awake. It was a dream come true.

The boy didn't answer, just leaned forward again. Louis took a sharp inhale as Harry dragged his lips over the curve of his jaw, then down the side of his neck. He shivered and cupped the back of the boy's head, threading fingers through his silky curls.

Harry finally sat up long enough for Louis to take a good look at him. His eyes were hooded with sleep and he sat on Louis's stomach with a thigh on either side, one hand curled around Louis's wrist while the other gripped the bulge straining against the fabric of his briefs.

"You're okay, Baby," Louis inhaled, his pulse escalating when he saw. He stroked Harry's burning cheek, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He couldn't believe this was happening. He almost wanted to try to wake himself up.

Harry palmed himself through the tight fabric, his eyelids wavering at the contact. The sight assaulted Louis's mind with all kinds of filthy imagery. He forgot what it was like to be fourteen and constantly horny. He was sure he might combust if he entertained the thought of Harry with a hand around himself, eyes glazed over in pleasure as he sought release. The thought of _watching_ Harry come wracked his entire body in tremors.  

"It's okay," Louis brushed the curls away from his face, leaning in and touching their lips. Harry hooked his arm around the back of Louis's neck, bringing their torsos together.

Louis kissed him hard, holding Harry's jaw open so he could lick at the roof of his mouth. The boy kissed back like he'd lost a diamond between Louis's teeth, pulling at the older man's roots to keep their bodies impossibly close, and not caring if their teeth collided or if their noses knocked. He felt a string of arousal pull through him as Harry moaned into his mouth. It wasn't much longer before his own cock was fattening against the boy's hip.

"Please, I'm," he murmured, trying to rut against Louis.

"I'm so hard for you, Louis, I-," the older man kissed him quiet. His entire body flooded with powerful endorphins and he was sure he would explode if Harry spoke another word. He wanted to hear it. God, of course he wanted to know that his feelings were returned, but he couldn't bear it.

Louis knocked Harry's hand away and curled his fingers around the shape of him. He kissed the boy's shoulder as he squeezed the stiffness through the thin fabric, rubbing his thumb against the shaft.

Louis kissed Harry's neck, nipping under his jaw as he listened to his soft, overwhelmed breaths. He circled the pad of his thumb into the head a couple times, watching the pleasure wash over Harry's expression until there was a warm spot of precome staining the dark fabric.

"You're shaking," Louis grazed lips along the side of Harry's mouth as he ran his fingers up and down the shaft. Harry whimpered, lifting his hips in a frustrated attempt to get Louis's hand around his dick or at least _on_ it. The man chuckled, kissing his lips as an apology. He held Harry's face as he ran his knuckles down his belly, stroking fingertips along the line of his pubic hair.

" _Louis_ ," he whined impatiently. Louis shook his head in disbelief, closing his lips against Harry's pulse as he finally slid his palm past the waistband and curled his fingers around the boy's cock. He circled his thumb against the sensitive crown and Harry dug his nails into the back of Louis's neck.

He made a guttural sound when Louis tightened his hold, firmly to provide the friction but loosely enough to control when his pleasure peaked. He stroked Harry slowly at first, listening to the boy's heartbreakingly delicate sounds as he worked his wrist into a steady rhythm.

He sucked a bruise between Harry's collarbones as he rubbed him off. The boy was achingly hard and so, so wet, with more precome pearling at the tip each time Louis pinched his knuckles just beneath the head. He smeared his slick to smoothen the glide.

He looped his other arm around Harry's midsection which kept him seated on Louis's lap as he began to slide his hips underneath him. The friction between their bodies and the seemingly innumerable layers of clothing separating them made for a frustrating sensation. Louis gripped Harry's dick, curving his thumb over the tip as he rocked up against him.

Each time the fabric of Harry's pants rubbed against the bulge in his own his teeth scraped Harry's jugular and his arm tightened around his waist. The gentle sensation between his hips spread through his muscles like an infection, soon devouring him completely.

"Harry... _Baby_ ," he murmured, as he drew the young boy's body closer to his chest, digging blunt nails into his hip as Harry fingered through the hair at the back of his head. Harry hummed, rubbing his head against Louis's temple.

Louis never gave much thought to how he would take Harry for the first time. Somewhere distant in his heart of french poetry and lyrical romance, he imagined curling his fingers around Harry's throat and slotting their lips together, laying him out on a cloudy white bedspread littered in rose petals and hooking his arm under the crook of Harry's knee. He figured he might dig out the vaseline and ease a single finger into the boy, kiss him to distract from the stretch, then slip in a second, then a third. Maybe after Harry had adjusted, he would nudge the crown of his cock down the cleft of Harry's bum. It would catch on his rim and the boy would stare into his eyes as he eased inside. But he supposed that would be _making love_.

Things were much less romantic when Harry was in his arms, groaning onto his tongue with trembling fingers gripping his jaw and sweat draped across his brow. Harry's mouth was the definition of sin and in his eyes, love was a myth.

They were going to fuck tonight.

It was hot and heavy and desperate like two celibate lovers reuniting for the first time in a decade. It was a heady mixture of pain and pleasure in a way Louis had only recently come to comprehend it. Before Harry the separation between those sensations was always so distinct.

Louis looped his thumb and forefinger around Harry's cock, quickly pulling each stroke up, down. His wrist moved faster and he glanced down between them to watch the wet, pink tip glide through the opening of his fist. Harry keened, head lolling back between his shoulders.

Eventually Harry reached down between them, squeezing Louis's cock through his pajama bottoms. Harry curved his arm around Louis's neck and leaned forward, sliding their hearts together. He mouthed lazily at Louis's lips, hardly kissing him, content to run his tongue against the seam as the older man rubbed him off.

"'Getting so wet for me," He murmured, the cotton of his pants bunching as he rubbed up against Harry's bum. Harry slipped his hand further into Louis's hair, gripping the roots and tilting his head to the side. The new angle made it easier for him to press his tongue into Louis's mouth, lick over his molars.

Some part of him was still hesitant to touch Harry ; this was very knew to the both of them and he didn't want to do anything that might turn the boy off or make him unwilling to be touched in the future. But Louis knew what he wanted. Just running the stiffness of his dick between the cleft of Harry's arse had his heart performing summersaults in his chest.

He wanted to fuck Harry. He was convinced he'd never wanted anything more than to feel himself easing into the boy's small body, to hold him down and drag him on and off his cock like a rag doll. The thought made arousal twist at the base of his spine and he couldn't contain the wounded sound that fought past his lips -

All at once everything he ever thought about doing with the boy caught up to him. Before Louis could stop the flood of desire, he was tugging his hand out of Harry's briefs, grasping the crook of his knee and flipping him onto his back with a _thud_.

Harry was winded at the startling show of strength; he stared at Louis, throat bobbing nervously. Louis hooked his arm under Harry's knee and pressed his thigh into his chest, partly to see how flexible the boy was. He ran his teeth up the side of Harry's neck as he moved in close, fitting himself between the boy's legs. Harry's dick was now trapped between their bodies and he arched, pushing his chest up against Louis's.

"Touch me again, Lou," Harry complained, trying desperately to catch friction on the hard press of Louis's abdomen.

"You gonna be good for me?" He kissed between Harry's collarbones, his chest and down the weightless skin of his lower belly. Harry's breath got caught in his throat, but he managed to stammer out a soft, "yeah".

Louis smiled, nipping at the jut of his hip before sitting up on his knees, cupping Harry's right shoulder and flipping him over onto his stomach. The boy's face collided with the cool hotel pillows and he whined. Louis chuckled.

He couldn't resist running his eyes over the endless plane of Harry's back, trailing knuckles over his smooth shoulders and through the valley of his lower back. He gripped Harry's pudgy sides as he dragged biting kisses down each bump of his spine, almost losing himself in how warm and soft and sweet he tasted.

He held Harry's hip as he hooked fingers under the waistband of his pants and tugged them over the swell of his bum. Louis's lips brushed his tailbone and the boy shuddered and moaned, sitting up on his elbows. Louis tossed his pants aside, then rubbed his palms over Harry's bare arse.

"Stay relaxed," he said, though he knew it would hardly ease the pain to come. He slipped two fingers onto his mouth, gathering the thick spit at the back of his tongue, then pulled them off slowly and ran them down the cleft of Harry's arse. He writhed under Louis's touch.

"Tell me if you don't want this," He couldn't see Harry's face, which was partly the reason he offered the option. Louis wondered if things might have been different if he was Harry's first. In retrospect, perhaps not.

He trailed his thumb down the rift of Harry's arse, using it to part his cheeks. He pulled one finger over the clenching muscle, as if to emphasize his question.

But Harry remained silent and Louis took it as the signal to proceed. He skated his lips down the back of Harry's thigh as his finger caught the center of Harry's entrance.

Louis's hand was nearly dried so he gathered as much saliva as he could and spit it on Harry's hole. A tremor ran through Harry's body and Louis moved his thumb around his sensitive opening, spreading the wetness. 

He considered pausing, going over to his suitcase to find the tub of proper lubricant he'd packed specifically for this purpose. But Harry was breathing hard, impatiently dragging his cock on the sheets while Louis squeezed the stiffness of his groin and he knew neither of them wanted to wait.

"I love you," he said, kissing the nape of Harry's neck as he nudged the first finger into him. Harry's head dropped between his shoulders, a soft whimper escaping his lips. He was unbearably tight as Louis's saliva hardly constituted for actual lubricant; it was like trying to fit a snake through a keyhole. Harry's hand twisted uncomfortably in the sheets, his back bowing deep almost as if he were trying to get away from Louis's finger.

"I'm sorry, Baby. Stay with me," He coaxed as he pressed the index in past his knuckle, then pulled back out. He gave Harry's dick a couple strokes with his other hand, just to be sure the pain didn't outweigh the pleasure.

Louis kissed the dip of his spine as he took the finger out, then pressed the second to his entrance. Harry inhaled sharply as Louis fought the resistance, soon burying the knuckle.

" _Fuck, fuck–_ ," the boy gasped, trying to worm out of Louis's hold. The man pinned Harry's hips to the mattress, crooked his fingers and rubbed the pads along his smooth walls.

"You're such a good boy, H. My good, perfect boy," he reminded, debating on whether or not to fit in a third. It would certainly help to loosen him up. Harry's body hugged his fingers like a vice and it made him shudder to even think about trying to fit his cock in there. He tugged his fingers out.

Louis grabbed one pillow from the headboard, curled his fingers around Harry's hips and lifted him up from the bed to slip it underneath. Harry had gone a bit soft, so he fit his front to his back, kissed the side of his neck, then wrapped his hand around his length.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Love," he murmured, plastering the boy's back to his chest. He was still fully clothed, the fabric of his shirt suffocating his hot skin and the cotton of his trousers tenting around his cock, but he hardly noticed, barely cared.

He didn't waste any time and was quite impressed with his ability to undo the drawstring and shove his pajama bottoms down his thighs with a single hand. He did the same to his pants, then smoothed his hand up to cup Harry's belly, rubbing his thumb into the warm skin.

Harry bit his lip and pushed back against him, his cheeks parting around the crown of Louis's dick. Heat coiled through Louis's pelvis and he licked his hand, dropping it to wrap around his length and stroke a few times. The sight of Harry – laid out on the bed, back flushed, arse tilted up and ready to take him – was enough to get him fully hard.

"Tell me if it's too much," he told Harry before spitting into his palm, smearing the saliva on his dick. He nudged his fist between Harry's cheeks, catching the tip of his length at the center of Harry's opening. Harry looked over his shoulder. Louis brushed his hand along the arch of his back, hoping to ease the tension there as he began to press forward.

It took a bit of force, but the head finally popped past Harry's swollen rim. The boy muffled his sobs into the pillows. Louis shushed him and soothed his skin, because surely if any hotel guests or staff were passing by, they would hear. He knew he was hurting Harry and he felt so sorry about it. The first time was always the worst.

He watched in fascination as he slowly eased the remaining length into Harry's body. He swallowed Louis like a deep sleep, sucking him deeper and deeper until he was sheathed completely, hips were cradled by the back of Harry's thighs.

Louis wiped the sweat from his brow, lowering his head to Harry's shoulder. He didn't move just yet; he knew the boy would need plenty of time to adjust. Instead he focused on how warm and soft and inviting his body was. The need in his gut grew as he rotated his hips, trying to help.

"You're doing so well, Baby," he sucked a kiss to Harry's jaw, cupping his forehead and brushing back his sweaty curls. He gripped Harry's dick, circling his thumb into the slit.

The boy turned his head after a minute, reaching around to hold the back of Louis's head and slotting their lips together. Louis fit a hand under Harry's chin, pulling down on his jaw to get him to part his lips. He had a feeling he would never tire of kissing this boy. Not even if they were moments from death.

" _Louis_ ," he whispered as he leaned away. Louis teased the tip of his tongue along his purpling bottom lip.

"Hm?" he scraped his nails against Harry's belly, touching their foreheads.

"Fuck me,"

Louis nodded, kissed the corner of Harry's mouth, his cheek, and his jaw. He grunted, eyes screwing shut as Louis drew out of his body, gripped his hip for leverage before thrusting back in. Harry grabbed Louis's hand, tangling their fingers.

He whimpered softly and Louis moaned, his entire body efflorescing in heat. He squeezed Harry's hand as he pulled back, then flicked forward again. Harry got used to the feeling and worked his hips back after a while, lowering the weight of his torso onto his forearms.

"Yeah, there you go, Baby. 'Feel so good around me," Louis hummed, sinking his teeth into Harry's shoulder. He dragged rough fingers over the boy's side, the soft skin caving beneath his touch.

"Touch me," Harry begged, his voice breaking on the last syllable. Louis closed his fingers around the boy's hard prick, picking up the same rhythm. Precome dribbled from the slit, messing his hand and the pillowcase, but he loved it.

Louis couldn't keep his lips away from Harry's skin for even a moment. He sucked a red mark at the cut of Harry's jaw as he pivoted forward in quick strokes, jerking him off at the same pace.

"Fuck, Baby, I'm– I'm not gonna last–," he stammered over the creaking of the bedsprings. He could already feel that familiar heat pooling at the base of his spine, sparking his nerve endings and threatening to push him over the edge -

"Just– make me come," Harry pleaded, tangling his curls against the sheets. A powerful wave of love and lust and every twisted feeling in between blossomed in Louis's bones.

"I will Baby, I promise. _God_ , I love you," he said, fitting his other hand around Harry's neck. Although he was growing, his body was still so small and Louis could easily press his thumb to the square of Harry's jaw and tip his head back onto his shoulder.

His hand flew over Harry's cock, precome bubbling over his palm as he rocked into him. Harry's belly fluttered with each quickening breath, his eyelashes falling against the flush of his cheeks as he approached his climax.

Louis nipped at his earlobe, running his thumb back and forth on the sensitive underside of Harry's cock. The boy arched as far as he could go between Louis's chest and his fingers around his windpipe -

It was sudden, but not startling when Harry's entire body tensed and he came, warm and wet and spilling over Louis's knuckles. Harry melted into the sheets after, quivering with the aftershocks. Louis kissed his tangled curls, letting his head drop to the mattress.

"Beautiful," he murmured, yanking the boy back by his hips. Harry nearly fell flat onto his face and scrambled to gain purchase on his wobbling elbows as Louis continued to fuck him.

Every drag was like a fire licking at his bones, wrapping around his muscles. The pressure of his orgasm was building under his naval as he flicked his hips in harder and faster, not stopping even as he set the headboard swinging into the hotel wall. He hoped in vain no one was on the other side.

"Fuck, _Harry–_ ," he trembled as his peak encroached upon him, warmth flooding his pelvis and static stars bursting behind his eyelids. He felt his come filling the boy and continued to rock into him, riding the high until he became oversensitive.

For a long time he remained frozen, salty sweat dripping from the tips of his hair and tangling in his eyelashes. He pressed his lips to Harry's shoulder and held his body still against his chest. He was sure he would never be ready to pull out of him.

Eventually his respiration stabilized and Harry began to shift uncomfortably, so he eased out carefully, staring as his come dribbled from Harry's hole and down the inside of his thigh. He kissed the nape of Harry's neck before flopping onto his back beside him.

The silence hung between them. Louis rubbed his hand over his chest, feeling the palpations of his heart. Harry leaned his head on Louis's shoulder, looking too weak to move.

"Feel better?" he wondered, caressing the boy's ruddy cheek with the side of his clean hand. Harry nodded, his movement languid and slow. Louis smiled softly, trailing his hand down Harry's arm. He gripped Harry's elbow and pulled him up onto his chest.

He rubbed Harry's back as he rested his head in the side of Louis's neck, slipping his ankle between Louis's knees.

"Shit," the boy slurred, his voice sending vibrations through the sensitive skin of Louis's neck.

"What?"  the man wondered, tickling his spine.

Harry didn't answer at first. His eyes were still and unfocused as he trailed an idle finger into Louis's shirt, circling a nipple before pinching it. He shuddered, batting Harry's hand away and the boy smirked, but settled, flattening his palm against Louis's pectoral.

"I feel disgusting," he scrunched his nose.

Louis somewhat agreed. It was uncomfortable sleeping right after sex ( _sex_ – he breathed, _he just had sex with the boy of his dreams_ ). He still had Harry's come cooling between his fingers and sweat clinging to his skin, but there was indeed something beautiful about release that made him frown, pausing where he drew slow circles into the boy's back.

"Want me to clean you up?"

Harry pouted, shaking his head almost immediately. He balled his fist and rubbed his eye. Louis watched him closely, amazed at how he could go from the phantom of his wet fantasies to a sweet, sleepy cherub who needed a cuddle before bed.

"No," Harry breathed, cupping Louis's face and kissing him on the mouth.

"I like it,"

\- ✿ -

Morning crept upon them like an incurable disease. Louis ignored the sounds of Harry slipping out of bed to use the toilet and the hissing of the faucet as he brushed his teeth.

He didn't wake up until around ten, when Harry slid back into bed, sitting with his feet at the headboard and his arm thrown over Louis's stomach.

"I saw your eyes twitch," the child poked his face. Louis flinched. 

"Come on, Lou. Wakey wakey. I need to tell you something," he sang, curling his finger along Louis's cheekbone. The older man continued to ignore him and he huffed impatiently, resting his head on Louis's chest.

"What is it, Harry," he sighed. How could Harry be so enthused at this hour? They were up past three last night. Or rather, this morning.

"It's about this thing I did at camp with my friend. Come _on_. You have to be awake, Ugly," Harry cupped Louis's jaw, gliding the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. The man sighed and parted his eyelids, slowly focusing on the boy's hazy outline.

"Hi," Harry softened, eyes raking down his face. Louis curled his lips, trying to ignore the butterflies in his tummy.

"Hi," he replied, sliding his hand over Harry's. There was nothing but bliss in that string of sixty seconds. The hotel decor faded away and they were just two souls floating in the universe, by some twist of fate colliding in the arch of time.

"Did you rest?" Louis asked him, because the boy seemed rather riled up.

"Yes, Dad," he teased, sliding his hands up the hem of Louis's shirt. His fingers brushed the waist of Louis's pants.

"So can I tell you, or not?"

"Depends," Louis circled his hands around Harry's wrists and pulled him away. Harry frowned.

"On what?"

"You have to kiss me first," he smirked. He hoped, but wasn't expecting the boy to go along with it and found his stomach swooping as Harry pushed up onto his knees and crawled closer. Harry hooked his leg over Louis's thighs, heaving his weight onto Louis's torso to straddle him. Louis fit his hands on Harry's hips, thumbs soothing his bare skin.

"Just once?" Harry pouted. He touched his palm to Louis's cheek, dragging his thumb down over his bottom lip. The man closed his eyes, praying he would never escape this ripple in time.

Before he could think of another metaphor to describe Harry's beauty, the boy leaned forward and kissed him. His lips moulded against Louis's, tongue pressing in, flicking out. Harry pulled away slowly, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

"So I met this boy Zayn," he started, moving back slightly and resting his arse right over Louis's groin. The older man inhaled.

"He was really cool. Like, really good at drawing. He drew me once. His dad worked there at the camp, so they had him helping out in the stables with the horses and stuff. We had a free period every day before lunch and after dinner I would go visit him," Harry explained, his eyes bright in reminiscence of his few weeks at summer camp. At first he hated the thought of Harry going away, but now he wished the boy could have spent more time there, seeing as it made him happy.

"He suggested we sneak out after curfew and go swimming in the lake one time. Like, we went a couple times, but this time," Louis nodded, rubbing his thumb over Harry's knuckles.

"He like– we were just dicking around, you know? He was splashing me and I was going straight for his head to like, dunk him in the water. It was fun and after that we started getting bored, but we didn't want to leave yet, so we sat on the bank. And then he asked me if I'd ever gotten a blowjob," Harry bit his lip, peering up at Louis.

Louis swallowed.

"What did you say?" he wondered, curious himself. He didn't mean the question to sound so demanding, but there was a part of him yearning to know of every sexual or even romantic experience Harry had. Maybe it was because he wanted to feel special. Maybe it was so he would feel less guilty about loving a child.

"I told him no, _never_ ," Harry smoothed his hands down Louis's chest, carefully undoing the loose buttons of his top. Something edged along his tone that suggested Harry might not have been telling the truth.

Louis watched as he arched in, moving his lips over his chest. Harry swiped his tongue against Louis's nipple, making the man shudder and dig his nails into Harry's side.

"Then he asked me if I wanted to," Harry hummed just before he caught Louis's nipple between his teeth. The man started to feel a stirring in his pants. He huffed, rubbing the back of Harry's neck.

"If you wanted to what?" he asked, hardly following Harry's story anymore. The boy sat up, dropping his hand between Louis's legs and squeezing him through the material.

"If I wanted to learn," Harry tongued over his retainer.

"Harry," Louis closed his eyes, his face flushing. He couldn't decide whether he loved or hated being the boy's personal toy. Every thread of his being desired Harry's affection and attention, despite however demeaning it might be.

Harry palmed him slowly, kissing between his pectorals, down his sternum and to the flat of his stomach. Louis just held the back of his head, unsure of how to touch the boy and still unable to wrap his mind around exactly what was happening.

Last night had definitely been a dream, he decided. He could be content with that. He would accept that he had imagined everything and wouldn't feel guilty for having the thoughts or feel sorry for himself that they hadn't been real. But this - Louis distinctly remembers waking up. Was he in a coma? Was this a bout of hypnosis? Psychosis? Had he deluded the last few months entirely? At least the last few weeks.

Or was this sweet, darling creature really inching down between his thighs and breathing hot air over the front of his pants? The man rubbed his hands down his face, trying to shake and wake himself from this vivid fantasy. Harry kissed across his lower stomach, curling his fingers in his waistband and tugging his pants down so they bunched around the tops of his thighs.

"Want me to show you?" The boy breathed, wrapping his wiry fingers around Louis's cock. Need grew just below his naval and he arched up, a silent plea to Harry that he would move his hand or lower his lips or do something, _anything_ -

"Yeah– yes, Harry. _Please_ ," he begged. Everything was confusing and happening so fast, but Louis enjoyed letting Harry take control. It aroused a different side of him, one he wasn't sure existed before the boy came into his life.

Harry slid his retainer out of his mouth, holding Louis's gaze as he lowered his head and closed his lips around the crown. His eyelids fell shut at the sight and he moaned, threading his fingers through Harry's soft, tangled curls.

The boy's pink lips stretched around his length as he lowered his head, taking Louis deeper. Louis wasn't abnormally huge, but his girth was wide enough to bud tears in the corners of Harry's eyes. The boy guided the underside of Louis's cock along the flat of his tongue as he pulled off to breathe. He teased the tip into the sensitive slit, making Louis shudder and press harder on the back of his neck.

Harry didn't manage to get Louis all the way down, but that was most likely because he was fourteen and still had a lot of growing to do. He was unsure and kind of clumsy about his movements, but Louis was getting a blowjob from _Harry Styles_ and really didn't care much to complain.

He eventually set a rhythm - bobbing down opposite Louis's bucking up - that had heat building at the low of his back. His orgasm engulfed him almost embarrassingly fast; he tugged Harry's head up by his hair, curled a hand around his length and brought himself to the edge that way, painting the boy's lips and tongue in warm, white stripes.

After a few moments Harry started to complain about it, so Louis wrapped a hand around his arm and tugged him into the bathroom. There, he handed Harry a flannel and ran them a hot shower.

Louis kissed Harry's wet hair as he worked the hotel soap over his back and shoulders. He tried not to think too much about what they had just done - or the potential implications of such. He didn't want to think about this high coming to an end or this fantasy crumbling at their feet.

He loved Harry. That part would always hold true. And if tomorrow the police found them out or Harry discovered the truth of his mother and hated his guts for eternity, at least Louis could say he had a chance to show him.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

« _and I will make thee a bed of roses_  
_and a thousand fragrant posies,_  
_a cap of flowers, and a kirtle_  
_embroidered all with_  
_leaves of myrtle_ »

— C. Marlowe, _The Passionate_  
_Shepherd to His Love_

\- ✿ -

"Your mother is in a special hospital about an hour away from here. I figure we could stop for lunch and then go visit. We might need to fill up the tank as well," Louis thought out loud as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.

"You should probably get yourself together. We're leaving soon,"

Harry sighed where he laid on mattress, legs outstretched toward the ceiling. He was still in only a tight little pair of briefs since their shower earlier in the morning and all but refused Louis's qualms for him to get dressed. They didn't want to be late for visiting hours. God forbid they have to go another _whole day_ without seeing Harry's mother.

"I don't feel like moving," Harry complained, grabbing his heels and bending his knees to his chest.

"We haven't left the room all day, Love," Louis smirked, folding his pajama bottoms and tossing them on top of the disarrayed pile of clothes in his suitcase.

There were still traces of half eaten room service strewn about the corner table. The eggs were a bit undercooked, as Louis noticed, but the wheat toast and sausage sat nicely in his stomach. Harry practically inhaled his blueberry Belgian waffles and spent the last thirty minutes in the same spot, staring at the ceiling as he waited for his food to settle.

"Don't you want to see Mummy?" he teased, the smile suddenly feeling plastered onto his face. Sometimes he caught himself believing his own lie.

"No," Harry answered without hesitation.

Louis scoffed, "Awful. I do hope you wouldn't say that to her face,"

"You've heard me say worse to her face,"  
Harry sat up slowly, rubbing his nails through his knotted hair.

"And it's unfortunate. Do you want to visit anywhere else while we're in the city? I heard there's a really cool book store on fourteenth —,"

"Isn't Mr. Winston doing something? He mentioned he was in town for _something_ yesterday, but I can't remember what," Harry stood from the bed, wandering over to his suitcase.

"Um, I wouldn't know. I didn't get a chance to properly meet him," Louis lied as he pulled out a pair of trousers, stepping in one leg at a time. He quickly did the button and zip, then tucked the hem of his shirt into the waist. He knew for a fact Ben Winston was holding auditions for his next feature film this afternoon in the square, but decidedly filed that information in the furthest corner of his mind.

Louis was developing a bad habit. Though he was never bold in his prevarication, he knew there was a time and a season for everything. They were only white lies, he told himself, each like harmless sputtering clouds of smoke– of course, until they caught ablaze. Last night was amazing. This morning had been all but ethereal. He just needed a little more time.

"Now _that's_ unfortunate. You two probably would've gotten along well," the boy hummed as he finally started getting dressed. He dug his trainers out of the suitcase, pulling each on his feet.

Again, Louis couldn't help but notice the uncharacteristic interest of Harry's in Mr. Winston. They had never discussed the man's work before, nor any cinematography for that matter. Louis appreciated the odd film every now and again. He believed film was the next big thing in entertainment.

Louis had never treated Harry to the cinema and perhaps that was the reason the conversation never aroused. However, if film and or acting was something Harry was curious about, Louis'd be more than happy to help him discover it, just. Another time. Under other circumstances. Ones that didn't surround Ben Winston and his services.

"Right," Louis ignored the sentiment. He fastened his suitcase and lifted it onto its side. He slipped his watch back on his wrist, then swiped the car keys from the night table.

"You got your toothbrush out of the bathroom?" he glanced at Harry over his shoulder, going through a mental checklist.

"Hold your horses, Old Man," Harry gritted out as he laced up his shoes. His pink tongue pressed against the corner of his mouth as his fingertips looped each string and drew them tight. Louis wanted to kiss him all over again.

"We don't want to keep her waiting,"

Harry stood for the bathroom quickly, retrieving his toothbrush and the toothpaste he left on the edge of the sink. Although it was wet, he carelessly stuffed it under the pile of clothes in his suitcase.

"Ready?" Louis rubbed his throat, thumbing over a tiny bruise left from the night before. Harry carried his suitcase around the room, eyes tracing Louis bottom to top, and eventually settling on his gaze.

"Yeah," the boy said with blank look. Louis gripped the room key and nodded, nudging Harry to start making his way out of the hotel room.

A lot of things happened in that room, none of which fathomable; Louis still hadn't figured out whether to rejoice or mourn.

He tried to remain focused on his love for Harry and the life still lingering in the child's face as they checked out of the hotel. Thankfully, they didn't run into Ben Winston and Harry was quite proud of the fact that he carried his own luggage to the car park. They were okay for now, though something dark and uneasy peeled at the edges of the illusion - a darkness no doubt seeded lies.

\- ✿ -

Ten miles in on their fantasy travel and the air began to shift. Harry had been squirming in his seat for some time now, fiddling nonstop with the radio knobs, crossing and uncrossing his legs, filling the car with the horrid crinkling of the pages of his popular culture magazine.

"How much further," Harry huffed, arching in his seat, tossing the magazine to the floor.

"Uh... n-not long," Louis said, terribly unsure of what to say. Lunch bought enough time to figure out what direction they were going in, but now forty minutes had passed and if they didn't reach a hospital soon he would have no choice but to make up another lie or worse— tell Harry the truth. A shiver ran through Louis at the thought.

"Could we stop somewhere soon?" Harry hissed and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"I need a bathroom,"

"Already? Didn't you go before we left the diner?" Louis frowned, quickly glancing over at the boy. His lips pulled taut like he tasted something sour, nose twisting, brow wrinkling.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I swear– just. Where's the nearest gas station?" he mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Not sure... but I can take the next exit. Um, are you sure you're alright?" Louis pressed. He didn't mean to smother Harry, but he could tell he was feeling off since this morning and couldn't help wondering if his attempts to deflect were starting to wear off. They had sex last night. Louis had been _inside_ of him and they hadn't even talked about it. Should they?

Come to think of it, last night in the heat of things, he hadn't gotten around to asking Harry's thoughts on his modus operandi. Or what he really wanted, for that matter – but that was because the boy seemed to enjoy himself. He came, anyway. Louis realized he hadn't prepared him as well as he should have and if it had been Harry's first time that way - it was a proper shitty first time.

" _Yes_ ," Harry sighed in annoyance, lowering his head into his arms. Louis saw the sign for the next exit and maneuvered into the far right lane.

"Are... um, are you sore?" he cleared his throat after a little bit, unable to hide his concern. He didn't notice any blood or tearing when they were bathing earlier - and Louis was pretty sure if that was an issue the boy would've complained long before now.

Harry held his legs to his chest, whimpering as the vehicle rolled over a sudden dip. Louis winced, badly wanting to reach over and soothe fingertips over the child's knee.

"What did you expect," he muttered after a while, turning his head toward his window.

"... 'practically fucked me dry,"

Trees and guard rail passed his sight as they took the exit. All at once his priorities were reorganized. _Gas station_ , _gas station_ – his eyes searched the little tourist town for the object of need. He eased the car to a stop at the traffic light, rubbing the back of his neck as the anxiety of making Harry wait sank deeper into his skin. He practically melted in relief when he spotted one not too far down the road.

He pulled into an empty space and parked the car, still gripping the steering wheel as Harry popped the passenger side door and slid out of his seat. He watched him from the rear view mirror as he jogged to the shop door and practically fell inside. Louis tried to smile at his goofiness, but felt much too sick with guilt.

As he sat there waiting, Harry's words began to sink in.

He worried a lot about Harry already, being this adult figure in his life (also because Harry was the very axiom of his existence, but). Louis was terrified of telling the truth and would rather shatter every bone in his body than have to watch Harry fall apart. He felt guilty for lying, for smiling and joking with his stepson about his wife, Harry's mother - as if she were alive and well and only a sunrise away. He cursed himself for not figuring out a better way to handle the situation. (He cursed himself for being the cause of this mess.)

He also regretted last night. Well, that wasn't entirely correct; he didn't regret doing those things with Harry. The boy had wanted it just as much as he did, he was sure – and knowing that his feelings were requited, at least in a physical sense, was enough for Louis to feel suspended among the clouds. In fact, some part of him had already mapped out how the two of them would spend the remaining weeks of summer not only fulfilling his wildest fantasies, but transcending reality entirely.

But there was still an issue of right and wrong. Introducing sex into their relationship wasn't the most responsible move on Louis's part. Though it bruised his mind to think it, last night he _could_ have easily pushed Harry off and told him to go take care of himself elsewhere. He could have smothered his true feelings and made it clear to the boy that he loved Harry's mother and that no shenanigans were to take place in her absence. He could have told Harry the truth. Louis was sure none of the events of the last twenty four hours would have taken place had he broken the news foremost.

And he didn't want to further complicate things. Harry was a growing boy. Louis didn't know much about childhood development, but he cared so much for him and the last thing he intended was to encourage the promiscuity. Experimenting was one thing, but a habit was dangerous and could lead to bigger problems in the future.

After hearing of Harry's encounter with the Zayn lad, Louis concluded that whatever they did together was not his first ever time with a male. And Louis was trying to make himself okay with the idea of Harry not being as innocent as he thought, but he couldn't help fearing he had a hand in that.

That thought too enveloped him in guilt and shame. He couldn't ask the boy when his sexual awakening truly took place. He could neither confirm nor deny his fears. Louis would not take himself back to the night he crept into bed behind the child and touched him. He hurt Harry and he was determined not to do it again.

"Dad," the boy's voice broke him from his bout of self-loathing. Louis looked to his right, pushing his lips into an amiable smile.

"Gimme some quarters, I want bubblegum. And maybe to call mom in the hospital. What's the number?" Harry hung his arms in the open window, leaning his weight against the door.

Louis stared at the windshield for a long time before even processing the request. He knew he couldn't lie this time. Harry would either see through him or grow suspicious and the last thing he needed to lose right now was the boy's trust.

 _Do the right thing_ , his conscience chanted. _It's better this way._

Because how long did he plan on keeping Harry from the truth? How much more pain was he willing to inflict on the boy just so he could hold onto their fantasy for another second? This was what made him a monster - his greed, his indifference for the feelings of others, his weakness to do what was necessary, even at the cost of his love.

_He deserves to know._

Louis's mouth felt unbelievably dry. In that moment Harry was so beautiful and so blissfully unaware.

"Get in the car." he finally said, dragging his blunt nails down his bicep. He itched like a million tiny bugs were crawling under his skin.

"Why?" Harry's brow pushed together.

"Just– get in the car, yeah? You can't call your mother," he mumbled, pressing the key back into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life.

Obviously Harry wasn't content with just that, but he opened the side door and climbed in the seat.

"Why can't I call mom?" he asked, twining his fingers together.

Louis knew he was going to have to tell him. He didn't have a choice, but he wished there was something he could do to ease Harry's pain before it began. Harry had lost both of his parents in such a short time and it was a pity such a creature had to suffer.

He felt like his soul was being removed from his body, as if the situation was crumbling just as fast as it was unfolding around him. He thought about touching Harry, taking his hand and offering him a sullen smile before saying it, but those gestures seemed empty and artificial when paired with the grimness of the words on his tongue.

"Because your mother is dead,"

\- ✿ -

It was a tough drive. Harry sat with his hands folded in his lap, head leaned against his window. He looked small and much younger for some reason, like the weight of the news regressed him. Louis watched him from the corner of his eye, hating every moment and praying for an answer.

He decided not to take them home because there were too many painful memories there. Harry's mother had died in the street just outside, and he didn't think subjecting the boy to that environment would help right now, so he kept driving south. He grew bored of it after forty minutes and was also concerned about Harry sitting for long, so he took them to a motel just off Route 93. The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Louis turned the car into the nearest parking spot.

He looked over at Harry and saw he still hadn't moved since telling him about twenty miles back. He wanted to say something, _anything_ to break the tension - but he didn't want to make things worse.

He turned off the vehicle and slipped out of the driver's seat. He checked to make sure he had his wallet before shutting the car door and trotting up the walkway to the motel's main office.

There, he checked them into a double bedded suite. He figured Harry would need his space tonight. The woman was kind and said if they needed anything to stop by or call. She said dinner would be served at seven in the main house and that they had fresh pastries available for purchase in the morning. Louis offered a thank you with a smile and collected the room key.

When he returned to the car, it was clear Harry had been crying. The lad quickly wiped a hand over his face when he saw Louis approaching, as if it were enough to hide the blotching of his skin and the shining of his eyes.

The older man sat back in the driver's seat, smoothing a hand over his thigh.

"I got us a double suite," he said gently. Harry leaned over in his seat, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyelids.

"You can go in first and choose which bed you'd like, H." Louis offered him the key, half expecting it to get his attention, half expecting another circulation of silence. It took a minute because Harry was still reluctant to let Louis see him in tears. Finally he sat up, wiping his cheek in one fluid motion before reaching for the key.

"Don't worry about it– I'll bring your things," He assured as Harry started toward the back of the car. He nodded slowly before walking up to the door. Louis watched him sadly as he pushed into the room and tugged the door shut behind him.  


He wasn't surprised that they didn't speak for the remainder of the day. After returning from the dining hall where he discovered the cook had created some kind of mystery shrimp and sprout cocktail, Louis returned to their room deciding he wasn't all that hungry anyway.

He turned in early with a decent book and a mug of hot tea and tried his best to ignore the muffled cries coming from under the duvet on the bed beside him. Harry tried to keep quiet at first, afraid to let his true despair overcome him or perhaps trying to convince himself and his stepdad he wasn't as broken with the news as he felt. Whichever the case, it was needless.

Louis hated the idea of him suffering alone, but each time he considered going over there, curling his arm around the boy and letting him tuck his weary head in his shoulder, his entire body shuddered with fear of rejection. He decided he would have to wait for the boy to come to him. That was how everything would have to be from now on.

Regardless of whether telling the truth was the right thing to do, he still felt awful and was still responsible for Harry's pain. He was sure no words of condolence or acts of affection were strong enough to soothe him.

Guilt of Anne's death and the uncertainty of her absence found him once more and when he could no longer take the silence, he stood from the bed, plucked a cigarette from his coat pocket and stepped outside.

Louis wasn't sure how long he stayed out there, pacing back and forth, watching the cars fly by on the main road beyond. At some point he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe. He sat on one of the decorative benches, cupping his head and pinching his pounding temples. He wasn't sure he should waste any more brain cells trying to figure out something where it all went wrong.

There was fun and excitement when they were together; the pleasures were unimaginable. But in many ways, Louis's love enabled the conundrum they were in. He was like the author of some twisted dreamworld, forcing Harry into new skin and expecting him to go along with whatever terrible things he conjured. It wasn't fair to ask this of him.

" _Louis_ ," a weak voice whimpered.

The man craned his neck and found Harry standing idly in the doorway, the twin bed's duvet wrapped around his shoulders and tears now freely flowing down his reddened face. He'd been crying almost nonstop for a couple hours. He must've been exhausted.

"What is it?" Louis's heart swelled.

The boy didn't speak. He stared at the ground for a long time before grief overcame him and his features twisted up again. He pressed his palm to his face and sucked in a heart breaking gasp. Louis cursed, immediately standing and wrapping his arms around Harry's frail and trembling frame.

"Shh. It's okay, Baby. I know," Louis murmured as he rubbed Harry's lower back, lifting the other hand to cradle the boy's head. He hated this more than anything in the whole world and didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for doing this to him.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he whispered, dragging him back into their motel room and kicking the door shut with his heel. He could feel snot and tears melting on the skin of his neck and the rattle of Harry's bones against his sturdy chest, but he didn't mind. He stroked his fingertips through Harry's messy curls, savoring the warm press of his body after such an intense day.

The boy sobbed hard, much harder and louder than Louis would like in a motel room with the chance of neighbors on either side. But he couldn't bring himself to chastise Harry or ask him to stop. If he needed to cry and scream and thrash, Louis would let him. Grief was a difficult process, but he was willing to give Harry anything if it brought back his smile.

That was his job now; to give Harry everything. Anne was out of the picture. Harry was his stepson, and Louis was now the only parental figure he had.

_Wasn't that what you wanted?_

Louis drew Harry closer, sliding the pad of his thumb along the back of his ear.

But it was different. He loved Harry so much every breath of his existence ached. Harry was the only thing that mattered, the only one who would _ever_ matter. Louis would gladly sell his soul to have him, body and mind, for eternity.

Obviously, with Anne out of the picture and Louis assuming the role of Harry's father, a new fact presented itself: There was no one around to stop them, no holy books, lingering eyes or clicking tongues to make them jump apart. It was ideal for an improper engagement between them, but could Louis really take advantage of this empty child in his arms and pull him from all he'd ever known? Did he even still want those things after everything that happened?

"You... you said she was in the hospital, and I–I thought she was —," Harry blubbered as he started to pulled away, shaking his head like he just couldn't wrap his mind around any of it.

"I know, Baby– I _know_ what I said. I shouldn't have lied to you and I'm so sorry. You're all I have now and I didn't want to hurt you and risk – _losing_ you," Louis cupped Harry's face with both hands now, using his thumbs to smear his fresh tears away.

"... 'can't _ever_ lose you," he shook his head tightly. He was astonished at how, in his eyes, Harry continued to be perfect and lovely and breathtaking even as he choked around his uneven breaths, salty tears dripping from his lip and snot pooling in his left nostril.

Louis comforted him there in front of the door, bringing the duvet back up around his shoulders when it started to slip, making sure to listen when Harry wanted to talk and just cradle and shush and rock him when he needed to cry a bit more.

Eventually Harry's sobs were reduced to soft snuffles, but the boy stayed glued to Louis's side for a long time after. This time when silence blanketed the room, it was a peaceful, justified silence; one that brought the promise of healing.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, threading his fingers through Harry's hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The boy purred, tightening his arms around Louis's waist.

"Want to clean you up before bed." he explained, carefully nudging Harry to remove his head from his neck and to look him in the eye. The boy slowly nodded, allowing the older man to lead him to the ensuite bathroom.

Harry stood in the doorway, gripping the comforter around his body as Louis knelt by the bathtub and unraveled a strip of toilet tissue. He held still as Louis wiped his face, not making a fuss when Louis had him blow his nose. All at once his perfect, independent prince was reduced to an invalid infant. Not that Louis minded taking care of his baby boy. He would gladly wait upon him hand and foot until his departure from this world.

He got another strip of paper to clear the snotty mess from the side of his neck, then disposed of it. Harry gave him a sheepish look and pointed to the wet spot at the corner of his shirt. Louis shrugged.

"It's alright, Love," he sighed, tucking a wayward curl behind Harry's ear. The boy tightened his grip on the duvet, glancing down.

"No more tears, okay?" Louis offered an encouraging smile. He knew it was an unrealistic request - the boy had just lost his mother. But Louis needed him to move past this, and any hope right now was better than none.

"No more tears," the boy mumbled. He was embarrassed, but Louis thought it was endearing. He tutted and cupped both hands around Harry's throat, thumbing under his jaw to raise his gaze.

"Good," He simpered before leaning forward and catching the boy's lips in the gentlest kiss he'd ever given him. He feared the boy might snap in half if he were any more demanding.

Louis pulled away after a moment, but only long enough to curve his arm around Harry's neck and tug him back into a hug. Harry nuzzled his nose against Louis's jaw, shuddering as the man's arms encased his smaller body.

" _Je t'aime_ , my perfect boy," he whispered, moving the pads of his fingers against nape of Harry's neck.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

«  _you of the whirling wings,_  
_circling, encompassing energy of God:_  
_you quicken the world in your clasp_  »  
— St. Hildegard of Bingen 

\- ✿ -

The sun shone brightly the following morning. Louis wanted to believe it was a symbol for healing and hope.

Although he had a hard time getting to sleep the night before, he was the first to wake. He fluffed his pillow and repositioned it underneath his neck so he could lay comfortably on his side. For awhile, he just watched Harry sleep.

In moments of absolute ease, Louis found himself revisiting all of the reasons of his total infatuation with the boy. It was hard not to, when most moments Louis spent tortured by the child's immaculacy.

But he was in love with the simple things; the way the shadows contoured Harry's ignorant face, the way the boy's nose wrinkled in his sleep and how his brow would furrow in concentration on his dreams. He was in love with the way Harry's tangled curls hung into the hairs of his lashes and how every now and then they fluttered in irritation. Louis loved the boy's dainty features, the jut of his collarbone, chest tanned and just visible between the buttons of his flannel pajama top, and the slope of his neck, still littered with pink love bites from the morning before.

Louis was so in love with every raw and natural part of him. Everything about Harry was achingly beautiful and that led Louis to understand this situation for what it truly was. He had been in love before, and likewise familiar with the clutches of lust. But this feeling –

Pain disguised as pleasure, dangerous, immutable desire and Louis's daily battle between a fatherly love and the forbidden– that was the distinction from Louis's past relationships. Just below this fantasy sat a terrifyingly real willingness of his to shackle his wrists to the boy, to submit and surrender and let Harry yank him in whatever direction he saw fit.

The rush he got from being near him, worshipping him, constantly working to maintain his approval and make him smile- was the most exciting thing in Louis's life. He didn't have children. Hell, he never even planned to get married. And Harry was just— everything, those whimsicalities and lazy morning daydreams all wrapped up in one.

Louis gently ran his knuckle along the soft, peachy skin of Harry's cheek. The boy didn't respond. Louis knew he was exhausted after everything that happened yesterday.

Louis scooted across the mattress, brushing his palm along the angle of Harry's jaw. The boy made a soft sound in the back of his throat, but didn't respond further than that.

"Harry, Darling," he murmured, dusting his lips across the corner of the boy's mouth. Harry hummed, his fingers curling against his pillow.

"C'mon, Love, it's time to wake up,"

Harry grumbled something unintelligible, then rolled onto his opposite side. Louis sighed.

He knew getting Harry up and motivated to do anything today would be an arduous task. He hadn't really given the boy any time to recover from the news of his mother's death. Louis didn't expect Harry to be back to his normal self for a while, but there was no harm in trying to distract him in the meantime.

"Darling... please wake up. I want to take you somewhere," Louis slid across the mattress. When at first Harry didn't respond, Louis looped his fingers around the boy's hand under the covers.

He scooted closer until his front aligned with Harry's back. He ran his thumb along the back of Harry's hand, brushed his lips against the slope of his neck.

"Where," Harry eventually murmured, his eyes still closed. Louis kissed his shoulder.

"It's a nice day. 'Thought we could go to the beach," he mused. It was a beautiful morning; he could feel the warmth of the sun peering through the curtains and hear a gentle breeze rustling the trees outside the motel. A day at the beach would surely lift Harry's spirits.

The boy was silent, so Louis dragged his lips along the side of his jaw to get his attention.

"Hm? What do you say, Baby?" he asked, carefully observing his expression.

"I don't know. I'm not really in the mood," he muttered, trying to turn even tighter into himself. Louis wouldn't allow it.

"Well, we're only thirty miles from the coast. I'd hate for us to pass right by on a day like this," Louis reasoned, though he knew trying to get Harry to see the situation his way had a little to nonexistent success rate. Harry frowned, folding his arms over his chest.

"Baby. Can you look at me?" he rubbed Harry's bicep, patiently waiting until he turned over.

"I'm sorry," Louis whispered, his hand slipping into Harry's, tugging it back out from under his folded arms. Harry tried to look away, but with his free hand, Louis immediately cupped his chin and turned his head back to face him.

"What for," Harry mumbled, his beautiful eyes clouded with so many hard feelings.

"I," Louis paused, gathering his thoughts as he wrapped his fingers around Harry's hand.

"For lying. For not being honest with you the moment it all happened. Harry, I was so shaken up and– I just hate to see you in pain," Harry stared into Louis's eyes, his gaze still cold and uncertain.

"You understand that, don't you? You understand why I would never want to cause you pain,"

"No," Harry swallowed, searching Louis's expression. The older man glanced down between them. They both knew what the answer would be.

"Because I love you, Harry Styles," he said, breathless. Harry eyed him closely, trying to retain his hard exterior.

"Why would I want to hurt someone I love?"

"I dunno," Harry curled his fingers around Louis's wrist and pulled his hand away.

"Sometimes people who say they love you end up hurting you more than people who don't," the boy countered as he sat up, slid to the edge of the mattress and threw the covers off of his legs.

"Well, that's sometimes true but, that's not my intention, Harry. Please," Louis reached out, touching his shoulder to stop him from standing.

"Let me fix this,"

Louis still had a lot of thoughts and feelings to decipher, but they all circled back to a hazy daydream of he and his boy, together. He knew it wasn't going to be as easy as dreaming, but he wasn't willing to give up now. Not when everything he ever wanted was so  _close_. He would just have to work harder to show Harry, because after everything, he deserved it.

Harry took a low breath, looking sick with sorry. He rubbed his hand over his knee, the smooth cotton of his pajama pants undulating beneath his touch.

"What if you can't?" he mumbled, his gaze sealed on the floor.

Louis scratched the stubble along his jaw, eyes furrowing. Harry always seemed to confound him with the questions he tried to deflect.

It was a confusing and often disconcerting attribute to Harry's vibrant personality. He spent quite a lot of his time lazing about and goofing off like a young boy would, abandoning his responsibilities in favor of watching morning cartoons or disappearing down the block with Niall. But sometimes Louis caught a glimpse of genuine uncertainty in his expression.

Childhood was often careless and easy because little girls and boys did not work long, hard hours to pay bills and bring home the bread and milk. Kids didn't have to make big decisions that would have impacts on them and those around them for the remainder of their lives. Children didn't understand the ails of adulthood; they didn't hinder their playtime with fears of the future or regrets of the past. Children weren't  _supposed_ toworry about those things.

But Louis couldn't help but imagine a younger, softer, more impressionable version of this Harry before him, bearing the weight of his broken household.

Louis scooted across the mattress slowly, not wanting to jostle Harry's thoughts. He sat beside the boy for a moment in silence, then carefully slid his arm around his tense shoulders.

"I don't know," Louis whispered gently. He placed his hand on Harry's face, pressing his thumb into his cheek to turn his gaze towards him.

"But, why not let me try?"

The boy inhaled distantly, his eyes gradually coming back into focus.

Louis trailed his gaze down to Harry's mouth, his warm, sunset pink lips, pretty and perfect and practically begging for the touch of his own. Harry swallowed hard when he noticed the look on Louis's face. He gently leaned his head against Louis's, letting his eyelids fall to his cheeks. Louis saw that as his invitation and closed the distance between their lips. And Harry kissed him back , his hands twisting together in his lap.

\- ✿ -

Harry finally agreed to get up when told he could choose where they ate for breakfast. While he showered, Louis stripped the sheets from the bed and tidied up their luggage in preparation for checkout. They both had a lot on their minds, so the exchange was silent as Harry exited the bathroom and Louis passed beside him, cradling his own clothes for the day.

Louis got a map from the front office after checking them out. He passed it to Harry as he got back into the driver's side, pulling the door shut and revving up the engine. Harry chose a small waffle house about two miles up the road because he was  _famished_  and  _near death_  and if Louis made him wait any longer to eat, he  _swore_  he would sink his teeth into him.

About an hour and a half later, they were back on the road and headed toward The Garden State. For the first five minutes, Harry complained nonstop about sitting in the car all day - but only ten minutes after that, he was leaning against the glass window with a hand over his full belly, soft snores purged from his perfect lips. 

While Louis was intensely focused on the road, he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to the boy every now and then. He liked to watch Harry when he was sleeping. The boy was just so raucous and agitated when he was awake. Sometimes it seemed like Harry physically couldn't sit still for more than a minute before whining, or finding something to get his hands in. It wasn't always bad. Harry was passionate in everything and Louis surely loved that about him, but there were times he wished the boy could be a little more relaxed.

When Harry was asleep, the illusion of tranquility purified his face. Louis knew Harry was still in pain. He knew Harry had a lot of things - too many things - spiraling through his young mind. Louis wanted to soothe him; he wanted to pull Harry away from his suffering, his anxious thoughts and rational fears. But in all honesty, he didn't know how.

They reached the shore that afternoon. Louis parked the car by the boardwalk, unclasped his seat belt, slid out of his seat and stretched his limbs to the sky. Harry woke upon arrival, groaning groggily at the disturbance of his rest.

"'Have a nice nap?" Louis wondered as he popped the trunk. By imbecilic nature, he knew he must have buried his swim trunks in the bottom of his suitcase.

"No. 'Barely slept at all," Harry whimpered, curling in on himself. Louis huffed.

"Bullshit, you were out the whole ride! You should probably get out and stretch a bit," he mused, unlatching his suitcase and rifling through his various accouterments.

"Don't want you to get stiff,"

Harry chuckled from his seat.   
"Sure," he muttered as he pushed open the car door and slid out of his seat.

The sound of the rushing tidal waves was poetry in motion. Louis could already feel the ocean breeze tangling in his hair, the warm, afternoon rays kissing the back of his neck; everything about it was soothing and he could hardy wait to get down to the shore.

Once in possession of his own, Louis pulled Harry's suitcase open and rifled through it until he found his swimming trunks.

"Here," he offered them to the boy, nodding in the direction of the changing tents on the side end of the parking lot. Harry took them slowly.

"Go on, get changed. I'll be right behind you," he instructed as he began collecting his sandals, two towels and a bottle of sunscreen.

There weren't many other visitors since they came so late in the day; some children building sandcastles, men and women enjoying ice cream from the vendor passing by, some teenage boys hitting a volleyball back and forth over the net.

Louis chose a spot furthest from the commotion by the pier. He was still getting used to being in public spaces with Harry and he wouldn't take any chances when it came to keeping their secret. From the average point of view he was sure it just looked like an innocent father-son holiday. Which it was, of course. Obviously.

Louis spread out his beach towel, bending over and pinning two of the corners down with his sandals. As he was absent-minded and ill-prepared, Harry raced past him at the speed of light, whacking him over the behind with his towel, rolled up. Louis cursed, nearly toppling over into himself as he rubbed the sore spot. He shot the boy a sour look.

Unfazed, Harry grinned at him, arching his brow before turning back toward the ocean. The sea splashed and parted around his ankles as he entered the water, hands coming up around his arms in protection from the cold. Louis's heart warmed at the sight. He had hoped bringing Harry here would get his mind off of everything and by the looks of it, Harry was a ray of light. Immediately he longed to run up behind the boy and collect him in his arms.

"It's fucking freezing!" Harry squawked as his knees began to submerge under the water, his hips following soon after. Louis shook his head, laughing as he jogged after his love.

\- ✿ -

He sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if he met Harry when he was a boy. He knew by the universal laws of space and time, it was impossible.

But what if Harry had been born in another time, in another place so far from the home he knew? What if Harry Styles were a boy who grew up in Louis's home country, in his home town? Louis could have easily been friends with him. They could have explored adolescence together, comforted each other, been one another's safe haven from the confusion of sexuality and society. Louis could have used a friend like Harry when he was fourteen. Maybe then he wouldn't have fallen into Dominic's trap.

Louis worried he didn't have much influence when it came to Harry because he was an adult. He didn't want to boss Harry around or force him into feeling happy when he genuinely wasn't, because that wouldn't be beneficial in the long term. The real challenge was giving Harry the nudge he needed without invalidating his feelings.

More than anything he wished he and Harry had started out as friends, rather than this awkward pairing of stepfather and stepson. Because no matter how hard he tried to forget it, Harry was calling him ' _Dad_ ' or teasing him about his age and he was falling back into the pit of self hatred that tried to consume him everyday. He wanted to know Harry better than anyone else. He wanted to be loved and trusted and fully understood by the younger boy. He wanted all of it- everything, until the end of forever.

"What are you doing?" Louis asked, glancing up from his book. Harry laid on his belly on his towel, curls dripping water down the nape of his neck. He combed his fingers through the sand in front of him, his brow pulled in concentration.

"Nunya," Harry muttered, flicking the sand from his fingertips toward Louis. Louis praised every force of good he was wearing his sunshades. He kicked Harry's leg with his foot. The boy chuckled into his wrist, letting out a long sigh before responding.

"I'm looking for shells," he said, smoothing his palm over the ripples in the sand.

"Well you're not gonna find any decent ones up here. Maybe from snails or hermit crabs. The conch shells are closer to the coast. Or over there by the rocks," Louis vaguely gestured toward the end of the beach. It was at least a mile away. He knew Harry was too lazy to go searching for a decent one.

"Mom and me went to the beach a lot when I was little. Like, five or six," Harry slid his fingers under the mound of sand he created, closing his fist around as much as he could.

"She used to tell me shells were magical portals to the ocean and because we were so big we couldn't fit through them. She said if you put your ear to them you could hear the waves, and like- I know it was a load of bullshit. But she let me pick one every time we came so I'd have something to remember the beach by,"

Louis watched as he opened his fist, releasing the grains of sand until they returned to their rightful place in the ground. Harry rested his chin on his hand.

Louis folded down the corner of the page he was on, closed the book and placed it on the towel beside him. He rested his hand on Harry's head, gently stroking his fingers through the boy's sea salty hair.

He didn't often think about the younger codependent years, since Harry was already well into adolescence and asserting his independence by the time he arrived. But he supposed it was rather impossible for a boy not to love his mother even if she completely destroyed his self confidence and projected her own lifelong dissatisfactions onto him.

"Was she happy?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves ahead.

Louis frowned, letting his hand slide down to caress the base of Harry's neck.

"Like, I mean- did she seem happy with you, before... you know," the boy stammered, his eyes feasting on the horizon.

Louis slowly removed his hand from where it made contact with Harry's skin. He smoothed his hand around the back of his neck, trying to find the right words to say.

"Well, I'm not sure. I'm know I did expend myself at times in order to keep her happy. But I think she was looking for something specific, and I won't ever know if she found it with me," he spoke solemnly, his eyes falling to the wedding band that still adorned his left hand.

Harry didn't speak, or even really acknowledge his statement, so he continued.

"You know, just because someone tells you they are happy or seems happy, doesn't mean they really are. And a lot of times, those people don't even  _know_  what will make them happy. So it makes it complicated for them to have relationships with others. I wasn't happy with my relationship wth your mother because I could tell  _she_  wasn't happy, and I knew that if she wasn't happy, then  _you_  wouldn't be happy - ," Louis sighed.

"And it just became this awful cycle. I wish ... more than anything I just wish things didn't have to end the way they did."

Louis didn't know what else to say about the situation. He couldn't tell Harry the real cause of Anne's death and he certainly wouldn't admit to emotionally manipulating the woman in order to gain legal rights over him. There were many things he was sure he would never be ready to tell Harry, but they didn't stop him from wanting to give all of himself to the boy.

The sea breeze eased the tension between their silent forms until Harry rolled over onto his back, finally looking up at him.

"Do you want to be with me because I'm like her?" he wondered, resting his hands on his stomach.

Louis couldn't fight the laugh that consumed his features, though he wanted to cry at the same time. Hearing Harry  _say_  those words, formally recognizing the feelings he had for him, and seeming curious to know more - made his heart burst with an avalanche of love.

He glanced around them to be sure there were no lingering eyes before he cupped Harry's hand and brought it up to his lips.

"No," he shook his head, brushing Harry's knuckles along his cheek.

"I wanted to be with her because she was like you,"

Harry inhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to understand. Louis knew he had his doubts, especially when he up and married the boy's mother out of nowhere. Maybe Harry was scared to let Louis love him because he wasn't sure if he could  _trust_  him. They had barely known each other a summer, and summer love was often as fleeting as summer itself.

"Harry," Louis started, his chest aching at the thought. Harry rubbed his other hand across his forehead, his eyes finding Louis's.

"You know how I feel about you, yeah?" Harry nodded carefully.

"You know I would do anything to protect you from hurting," he looked down at Harry's paint chipped nails.

"Yeah," he breathed, "So?"

Louis winced, wishing he didn't feel so selfish about what he was about to ask. He loved Harry so much and wanted that fact alone to justify any pain he ever caused to the boy. But he knew deep down that none of this was fair on him.

"So... I need you to trust me, Baby. I need you to let me love you and take care of you now," he wasn't really asking. Because Louis also knew that Harry had no choice– both of his parents were dead. He was alone in this world, unless he agreed to live under Louis's guardianship.

Harry gave him a strange, indecipherable look. He didn't look scared or angry or sad, rather some new feeling combined of all three. He looked as if he had already surpassed those emotions and was entering a knew stage of understanding. He looked - defeated, empty, purified, like all the grit and the fight he'd been known to have was slowly leaking out of him. He looked tired, too, and like maybe he was okay with all that.

(But Louis chose not to dwell on this revelation, because he never wanted to be aware of his last moments in bliss. He wanted to play like a boy alongside his Harry, to pretend and laugh while the world went tumbling down around them.)

"I do trust you," Harry quickly said, his eyes filling with fluorescent light.

"I certainly trust that you'll feed me before I starve. I can't even remember the last time I ate," he started to sit up, shaking the sand from his head. Louis forced a smile, but agreed. They should pack up soon.

\- ✿ -

The boardwalk was magical. The twinkling lights decorating shop windows, the elated sounds of kids competing in carnival games, and the delicious smells of popcorn, peach ice cream and funnel cake all tangled in Louis's senses like a beautiful dream. He took Harry to a restaurant close to the end of the boardwalk, where they shared a giant bowl of rigatoni alfredo and endless bread sticks. Harry ate like a pig, while Louis paced himself so he had room to try their famous vanilla bread pudding for dessert.

Louis was coerced into going into about eight hundred shops before they left, one in which the boy insisted Louis buy him a pink 'I Love New Jersey' tee shirt which got them both an uncomfortable stare from the shop owner. Harry seemed to be in a much better mood by the time they got back to the car. He held onto the plush calico kitten (Louis also bought for him because the display was positioned quite conveniently near the entrance to the parking lot) the entire journey to the hotel.

Louis checked them in a posh hotel with lights that glistened in the cove. They rode the elevator in relative silence, the bellhop trying his best not to stare at the boy in the corner with the painted nails, rubbing a stuffed kitty against his cheek. Louis eyed the man closely, smirking when he caught his gaze and the man went back to staring straight ahead.

He tipped the bellhop sparingly, closing the door shut behind him.

"You want to shower first? I'll probably be a while. I swear I'll be finding sand in strange places for months after this," Louis kicked off his shoes by the door.

"Yeah right, you barely got in the water," Harry teased him, unlatching his suitcase and pulling out his hairbrush.

"So?" Louis was too tired to come up with a witty retort at this hour. He went to his own suitcase and dug out a fresh pair of briefs and his toiletries.

"We could always shower together. You know, save water?" Harry suggested as he drew his shirt up over his head, mindlessly tossing it to the floor.

Louis chuckled dryly. Obviously he wanted that, but he had to consider where that would lead. He had to be conscious of Harry's own feelings. He was probably too tired to do anything tonight anyway.

Harry pushed his trunks down his thighs, brushing away little patches of sand still stuck to his skin. And then he stood in the center of the room, completely bare. Louis turned and looked at him, just taking him in from his perfect head to his perfect feet. He smiled.

"Is that what you want?" he hummed, slowly stepping closer. The boy shrugged, dipping his chin to his chest. When he was close enough, he slid his fingers through Harry's hair.

Memories of their first proper time filled Louis's head. He remembered the way his fingertips burned as they rolled over the boy's soft flesh, the universes bursting in his eyes, and the sweet, sultry sounds torn from his lips when he just couldn't hold back anymore. But those forty eight hours ago, he hadn't been the responsible adult Harry needed him to be. It was presumably Harry's first time that way - and Louis had let the beast of his desires take him over from the inside out.

He looped his arm around the back of Harry's neck, pulling the boy into his chest.

"I don't want to hurt you," he mumbled into the boy's hair. Harry scoffed against his neck, as if Louis were on a totally different wavelength.

"It's just a shower, Lou," he insisted.

The man pulled back to look at him, shaking his head. But after glancing down at the smirk on Harry's lip, he couldn't even  _attempt_  to deny the urge to lean in and kiss him after a long day of resisting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i will be continually editing this story. alsoo just a heads up the next chapter is going to montage through their road trip. if any of you have seen the movie(s) and/or read the book, you know that not much happens during their first road trip. anyway, 'enjoy' the next two chapters because things are going to get painful in PART 20 and beyond. like i said, this is NOT a love story.


	19. Chapter 19

«  _could you understand a child_  
 _when he cries in pain..._  
 _could you give him all he needs?_  »  
— Tears for Fears,  _The Hurting_

  
\- ✿ -

"What would you say to going on a road trip?" Louis placed a cigarette on his bottom lip, reaching across the nightstand for his lighter.

A very naked Harry sat on the mattress across from him, one hand clasped around the neck of rum he ordered from room service about twenty minutes ago. He tipped the bottle over carefully, though clear liquid still sloshed dangerously over the sides of his glass. He glanced up at Louis sheepishly, almost as if he expected the man to say something of contempt. Which Louis might've, had the boy not just given him the best orgasm of his life.

Louis pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and raised his own glass to his lips, grimacing at the taste. He didn't drink often, but felt he needed a little something tonight to take the edge off. A lot had happened in the last few days and he was having a hard time staying asleep.

Between Anne's death and his frantic and desperate efforts to distract Harry from feeling it's affects, he barely had time to figure out what they were doing next, let alone plan for the foreseeable future. He had a few ideas, of course, but with Harry still recovering from the news, it was hard to bring them up. He didn't want to pressure Harry into doing what he wanted; it wasn't Harry's responsibility to fulfill Louis's fantasies. Certainly not at a time like this.

"Right now?" Harry sucked on his bottom lip as he swirled the alcohol around in his glass. He sniffed it curiously, pulling a face.

"No, but – tomorrow," Louis murmured, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"... Or the next day. Whenever, really. 'Doesn't matter,"

Harry hummed, "You seem unsure,"

He played the role of Louis's partner, his lover, hell, his best friend and the only one close enough to him to even care about the violent thoughts in his head. It was often so difficult to understand why Harry spoke this way, with such pensive maturity.

"No," Louis sighed, downing the rest of his drink. The sharp burn traveled across the back of his tongue and down his throat. Harry watched him, idly.

"I just ... don't want to make it seem like you  _have_  to go along with something I suggest. We can always just go home, if..."

Harry raised his drink again, kissing the smooth glass before wincing away in disgust. Louis scoffed, reaching across the mattress in an unsuccessful attempt to remove the beverage from the boy's clasp.

"You really shouldn't be drinking," Louis sat back slowly, rubbing his eyes to alleviate the dizziness of sitting up too quickly. In an act of rebellion, the boy pinched his thumb and forefinger over his nostrils before pouring the entire glass of rum down his throat.

"Fuck!" Harry cried, squeezing his eyelids tight and sticking out his tongue. As Louis looked at him, he had a hard time deciding whether to feel fondness or shame.

"That was dis _gusting_ ," he complained, jeering down at his now empty glass.

Drunk or not, Louis was sure he would never wrap his mind around this feeling in his chest. Confused, but confident. Floating on a delicate high. Blessed and cursed with the image of the boy, naked and shameless in his bed, his soft neck and back covered in purpling bruises, upper lip shining with liquor, belly still glazed in his own release—

Louis rubbed a hand over the curve of himself, half mast and hidden beneath the wrinkled bedclothes.

"Then why do you keep drinking it?" he bit back a smile, though it wasn't necessarily a happy one. It was wild, unexplainable, irresponsible.

Harry poured himself another round, slow and easy, then tightened the silver cap on the now half empty nip. He rested it on the floor this time, giving himself more room to spread out on the bed. Louis traced his gaze down the boy's soft silhouette.

"I don't know," he mumbled, as if it were any sort of comprehensible explanation. But then again, Louis could barely remember why he asked.

(Deep down, he did know why. Everyone did it. They knew the pill was poison, but they swallowed it guiltlessly. Louis lost the battle everyday between protecting himself from what he knew was a threat and diving into whatever danger his baby boy suggested next. Because he loved Harry's disease just as much Harry yearned to infect him. He was addicted to the pain of Harry's subtle rejection, as it was a reminder of his evanescent time with the boy.

Beneath all things, Louis always knew his feelings would never be permissible in any aspect of modern society, but at some point, he no longer cared. Those airy theoretical and philosophical debates were distracting him from the pleasures of the flesh, the miracle awaiting him in the smooth, wet caress of Harry's mouth.)

"Pay attention to me," the boy giggled, crawling across the bed as alcohol spilled tragically from the sides of his glass. This time, Louis easily stole the glass from his loose hold, resting it safely on the bedside table beside his own. Harry pouted.

"I am, my  _Darling_. You're the loudest thing in the room," he grinned falsely, taking one last pull of his cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray. Hot smoke hung in the air and Harry squinted, skepticism painted on his brow.

"Oh yeah? Then what did I just say?" he challenged as he tore aside the sheets covering Louis's nakedness, his bottom lip pressed beneath his top row of teeth. Louis slipped his hands on either side of Harry's waist, steadying him.

"You ... said," Louis started, as Harry cupped his shoulder, slid one knee over his thigh to straddle his lap.

"Uh–,"

The boy drew in a slow breath as his palms crawled up Louis's abdomen and chest to settle around the base of his throat.

"Why does it matter?" Louis deflected, feeling embarrassed at his inability to focus or remember really anything of the last few minutes– not with Harry's body so close, his warmth like a furnace above his groin.

Harry grinned widely, seeing through him. He slid his arms around Louis's neck, stitching their fronts together.

"What did you say, Baby?" he kissed the side of Harry's exposed neck, slowly looping his arms around the boy's midsection.

Harry was silent in Louis's hold for a long moment before pulling back.

"I don't know," he grinned, an overly enthusiastic laugh pouring from his chest. Louis rolled his eyes at his little dramatist, tracing his thumb in a slow circle around the base of his spine.

"Shh... Harold. If we get a noise complaint, the hotel will have to toss us out. How'd you fancy sleeping in the car?" Louis told him very seriously, but Harry only continued to giggle, the sound tickling up his throat and much too beautiful to chastise. Louis couldn't help but chuckle a bit too, because every one of Harry's emotions was raw and contagious.

"What could possibly be so funny?" he demanded, slowly losing the battle against the laughter in his own chest. Harry hiccuped and titled his head forward, burying his face in Louis's neck.

"Baby," Louis sucked hard on an already crimson lovebite resting on the cut of Harry's jaw, desperate for his attention. The boy retreated slowly, curling his arms into his chest, his face now an alarming shade of red.

"Come on...  _quit_ ," Louis rubbed the pads of his fingers along the sensitive side of Harry's neck, just below his ear. The boy rocked forward, pushing his tongue between his teeth.

Louis finally cupped his hand over Harry's mouth, effectively trapping his sound.

"This is why young boys should not have alcohol," he tutted, giving Harry a stern look. There was little promise of a fourteen year old knowing how to responsibly monitor his alcohol consumption. Although anyone with any sense at all could argue a fourteen year old boy drinking alcohol completely defied the very  _construct_  of responsibility.

Harry returned the look with large, fearful eyes, nodding once to show that he understood. Louis sat back carefully, but did not remove his hand from where it pressed over Harry's lips.

Because there was something so beautiful about the way he looked; an emptiness about his features, an uncertainty in the dark of his eye. Whatever Louis had seen did not last longer than a second, but before he could pull his hand away on his own, Harry was swirling his smooth, wet tongue into the center of his palm.

He drew his hand away sharply, making a sound of disgust. The boy rolled his eyes as Louis wiped his hand across the bed sheet.

"Unsanitary," he chided, nose upturned. Harry didn't seem to care much about Louis's personal opinions on a regular basis, never mind when he was swaying drunkly on the older man's lap, his chest collapsing with heavy breath. 

Harry lazily tasted his bottom lip, hooded eyes flickering down to the older man's mouth. But Louis looked away quickly, unwilling to again lose himself in the boy's welcoming disposition.

Harry raised his hand slowly, pressing the center of his palm to the man's cheek. Louis could feel the heat radiating between where he ended and Harry began. A long moment passed before he felt safe lifting his gaze, succumbing to deadly beauty.

There was something magical about the moment Harry's eyes connected with his, something pure and euphoric and unforgettable. With their perceptions swimming in intoxicant, loosening every difficult emotion that ever plagued their short existence as one– Louis felt  _free_. He felt like he could confess his sins and be cleansed, like he had nothing else to live for, nothing to lose.

He arched in slowly, bumping his nose against Harry's cheek and threading his fingers in Harry's soft curls. He could feel the boy's nervous breath fanning out across his upper lip, could almost taste the sweetness of his scent. Louis slowly closed the distance between them, sucking Harry's bottom lip into his mouth.

"... I love you," he murmured, stroking his knuckle down the side of Harry's face as he pulled away. The boy darted forward and attached their lips once more, pushing his tongue into the older man's mouth. He leaned away lazily, a melody trapped in his throat.

"... don't you think I'm too young?" he hooked his arm around Louis's neck again, as he was losing his sense of balance.

"Too young for what?" Louis kissed down his throat, licking over bruises and bitemarks. Harry spread his fingers through Louis's hair, body arching into his ministrations.

"Love," he said, simply.

Louis inhaled steadily as he pulled away, trying to understand what Harry was saying. He didn't remember what age he was when he first had romantic or sexual feelings for another.

Dominic was the first, and at the time they became acquainted, Louis was fifteen. Love wasn't always easy, or fair. Love was a monsoon of endorphins, flooding the mind and body with unreal perceptions. Then it was cruel, gruesome.

But that was different.  
 _This_  was different.

This wasn't the kind of love they showed on movie screens, or outlined in the fairytale of children's picture books. No one spoke of this love. No one endorsed this love or encouraged this love or stood up for the lovers of this love. There were no words to describe this love. There were of course those who didn't understand; those who used adjectives like, immoral, unruly, perverse. But that was only because they had never  _experienced_  this love.

It was the kind of love that made one feel suspended in air and time and space altogether. It swallowed one completely and then spit them back out, leaving them sick and sour and corroding in their own sin. But it never felt like sin. It only ever felt like returning home early, or getting to taste a warm, decadent dessert before it was served. Forbidden fruit.

This feeling – dark and thickly coated in pleasure and shame, almost at times drawing pleasure from shame itself – had the ability to reset a man, to crack open the skull and rewire decades old practices and performances. This love, over all loves, was the answer, the protector, the absolute liberator from every social condemnation.

Here, blanketed in the arms of Harry - his very temptation, the sole reason for which he rejected his eternality - fights between morality and desire were finally abandoned for a savor of solace. Louis had never felt more comforted, more content. He floated between this life and the hellish next like a bag in the wind, unsure of the future, but somehow so unbelievably at peace with it.

Louis smiled, brushing his lips over Harry's.

"Probably," he sighed, resting his forehead against the boy's. But that was the best part about all of it - he didn't  _know_. He didn't  _care_.

\- ✿ -

The next week, they began traveling across the eastern United States. Though they didn't end up going very far, or seeing much of anything, Louis was in paradise.

They stopped at thirteen motels and hotels between Ellis Island and the nation's capital. They ate incredible foods, saw national treasures, monuments and discovered the difference between city and country drivers. They shared laughter and enjoyed each other's company some days, and were at each other's throats on others.

Harry complained a lot about the long car rides. He hated not being able to see his friends from home and although he would never speak it, he missed his mother dearly. He grew tired quickly and after long days of driving he almost never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. He slept a lot more than he used to, and Louis almost always had to bribe him into leaving the bed every morning.

He took Harry everywhere he could and often bought spent far too much money on clothes and food, toys, stuffed animals, sweet smelling soaps, pretty nail varnishes and new records for him. He told himself it was to make Harry happy because he loved to see the light come back into his eyes when he was being spoiled, but that light was almost always gone as quickly as it came. In reality, Louis knew all of the theatrics were just to make himself feel better about fucking Harry's life up. Distracting the boy for even a moment made him feel that much more sane.

But despite the guilt and depressions of their symbiosis, Louis was alive. Harry was his lifeblood and didn't need anything else.

Especially after a long day, when Louis curved his palm over the smooth dip of Harry's back, and the boy closed his rosy lips against the sensitive skin of Louis's lower stomach. He glanced up slowly with a sad sort of longing, like a soft, sickening goodbye exchanging itself between them.

Out of all the amazing things he saw on American soul, Harry's body was his most treasured. Louis loved running his hands over his smooth curves and dips, licking the salty sweat from his skin, sucking on his most sensitive spots. He discovered many ways to experience pleasure in those weeks, but more than anything, he loved to make Harry come.

He loved to kiss the boy, to brush his knuckles over the front of his pants, to slip his fingers past the waistband and curl them slowly around the shape of him. He rolled Harry over after a long day to drag innocent kisses over his stomach, soon nipping down the soft line of his pubic hair. The boy always gripped Louis tighter, pushed his smaller fingers through his hair and arched impatiently against him. He was so young, his body so easily manipulated.

Louis developed a habit of denying himself for the sake of the boy, though it hardly felt like denial when he got to watch Harry's body respond to physical pleasure. If he got to make Harry feel good in any way, shape or form, Louis was completely content.

He felt his chest growing tight each time he even thought about those surreal few weeks– having Harry however he wanted,  _whenever_  he wanted. Things weren't perfect, but definitely too good to be true.

Before Louis could relish in those incredible feelings, or truly appreciate the time they had together, it was September.

And he would spend the remainder of his life regretting it.


End file.
